Prophetic Intervention
by Harmonious Cannons
Summary: 2 more people heard the prophecy...entirely. They took it upon themselves to change the course of the war, as they saw fit. This is what happens when the True Marauders, including Lily, Frank and Alice, and their friends from the Order, and three wise guides, the main characters, avert the prophecy. Good Dumbledore (somewhat); horrible Snape. Horcrux destruction implicit. COMPLETE.
1. The Plan of the three 'A's

**The Plan of the Three 'A's**

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, paranoid-skilled-insane Auror Supreme, had turned up at the Hog's Head pub for a chat with Abe, before going off to the Castle to meet Albus, Abe's brother. It was one of those rare idyllic times in the war, a very small lull before an oncoming storm. It was a rare luxury, and with the way things were, for Mad-Eye, it was even more so. The grizzled old Auror was no stranger to battle, torment, torture and such. He had lost the use of one leg, and now had to use a clawed wooden fake leg and a scary magical eye ( ** _even Mad-Eye_** was scared) to boot. He had experienced a lot.

Of the two Dumbledore brothers, Aberforth or Abe, as his friends knew him, was by Alastor's definition, a friend. An operative of the Order that Abe was, he did not really bother with the rules that his old coot of a brother had set. They had been ambushed during the War against Grindelwald, and the man had had Mad-Eye's back at a time when his motto of Constant Vigilance had failed him. One of the cross-trained Nazi/Grindelwald blokes had aimed the gun at the back of his head and he would have not lived had Abe not turned the head of that punk to pulp. That had been the point where a look of understanding had passed between the two warriors.

At the moment, Abe had a look on his face that suggested that someone was trying to sell him a pound of rotten hippogriff dung as a crate of the finest Firewhiskey money could buy.

"Albus in the house, I take it?" Alastor asked with whatever passed off as akin to mirth for him.

"Worse," replied Abe. "Albus is sequestered in a private room with a batty woman who was telling me that something momentous will happen in this bar tonight. "Something that will change the course of the war," she said," reported Abe in a very scratchy, put-on, terrible parody of a mystical voice.

"You are a pervert, aren't you Abe? If I never needed an image it was that one. What's gonna happen? Albus Dumbledore knocks her up, gets reinvigorated and battles of Volde – damn it, he has gone and put up a taboo – You-Know-Who to protect the love of his life and the unborn child?"

"Were it not for the fact that you did not give me your hip-flask to refill, I'd have wagered that you have been roaming around, a drunk raving lunatic. Not that I wouldn't like the idea of a new little Dumbledore – Merlin knows, we have had too little to celebrate – but you know that Albus is more likely to get knocked up than knock somebody up."

The two gnarled old wizards stared at each other, magical eye and all, before cracking up into peals of insane laughter at the mental picture of a heavily pregnant Albus Dumbledore. That was definitely a picture neither wanted to imagine, and now their brains wouldn't let go of it. It was well worth it, after all. They had precious little of anything to laugh about, so even the crudest, crassest humour would do. Albus Dumbledore became an unwitting receptacle of a very filthy joke he would never know about.

"What room is he in anyway?"

"Room 13," Abe replied primly.

"Couldn't have found a grimmer number," Moody muttered. He turned the magical eye to gaze in the direction of Room 13.

"Say Abe, you have got some basic first aid and privacy charms on the doors, don't you?"

"What?" Abe asked. He was flabbergasted. "I can't seriously believe Albus is getting up to such shenanigans at that age!"

"No, you've got me wrong," Mad-Eye said, as he casually disillusioned and deodorised himself and Abe and silenced their shoes and clothes. "The 'batty woman', as you called her, is spewing out what I am sure is an honest-to-Merlin prophecy, and we have got a Death Eater listening at the door."

Abe shot out of his seat towards the room, while Mad-Eye simply apparated to the end of the corridor soundlessly. "Stupid barman," he grumbled, "Doesn't know his arse from the beer-bottle." He sidled up towards where Severus Snape, Death Eater, Greasy Bat, and Potions Master extraordinaire was stood, listening on the conversation of elders like a naughty, errant child. He cast a listening charm at the door, and what he heard was something that froze his, Alastor Moody's blood in his veins.

" _THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES...BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES ...AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . . AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES. . . . THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . . ._ "

Snape jerked beside him and crashed to the ground with a resounding 'thud'. Abe had stunned the poor sod. All of a sudden, the door swung open, as Albus Dumbledore, with a truly terrifying expression, thundered, "What is the meaning of this?"

He then saw the limp form of Severus Snape at his feet, and his friend and brother looking at the self-same form with identical grim expressions.

Albus opened his mouth to ask the routine identity questions when Alastor interrupted with a snarl, "Save it, Albus. You can ask me all the bloody questions once I am done giving you a thorough bollocking over not casting privacy charms, you old goat. The five year-old muggle sister and eighty year-old muggle grandmother of my latest recruit does better at secrecy and privacy than you do!" He then proceeded to shove both Snape and Dumbledore unceremoniously inside the room and entered, Abe following in his wake. Alastor calmly put up every single privacy spell on the room that he knew – and being as paranoid as he was, he knew too many. He then stunned Trelawney for good measure. Not that it made any difference of course, considering that she was still in the trance. Then they were subjected to Mad-Eye's tests of truth. Only when he was satisfied (and checked by Abe) did Mad-Eye proceed with the matters at hand.

"What are we going to do now?" Moody asked nobody in particular.

"Well we know of two children who are going to be born to order members at the end of July," replied Albus tentatively. "We should keep them under protections."

"Why?" asked Abe.

"What?"

"Why? Why would they need more protection than any other Order member?"

"What do you mean? When Tom comes to know about the Prophecy..."

"Why would he know about the Prophecy?" asked Abe again. "We are going to kill this shite-turd here and now!"

"But then who will fight Tom then?"

"Albus, you have never shown your age before! Are you mental?" growled Alastor. "You expect a kid to fight that abomination, after you deliberately leak the Prophecy to him?"

Abe's eyes widened in understanding and then narrowed in fury. He got up, and punched Albus on his nose, breaking it once again. "You are stupid, you old senile piece of shite! You want to control the kid as your weapon! I thought you would change, but you are just the same as you were at the age of nineteen!"

Alastor did not know what Abe was referring to, but whatever it was, caused Albus to pale considerably, even without his nose serving as the source for a river of blood.

"Alright, calm down, now," he ordered. He healed Albus, forced Abe down into his seat, and started again. "Albus, that is about the most heinous thing I have heard. And Abe, however much you want to beat Albus up, please calm down, or I will petrify you." Abe was still glaring at his brother murderously.

After about five minutes, when tempers had cooled down sufficiently, Albus sighed wearily and looked every bit his ninety four years of age. "Abe...thank you. I need to be reminded every now and then of the fact. I am just tired. I have fought one war too many..."

"And I am sorry for bringing that up," Abe responded stiffly.

"If your little family drama is done, we have still to decide what to do about this," he said grimacing at Snape.

"He will be called to Tom's side, Alastor. That mark is a Protean Charm."

"Then, we simulate death for him, for a few days. We shall then bring the Potters and Longbottoms on board. I have a plan," Alastor said grinning hideously.

Abe groaned. The last time they had followed Alastor's convoluted plan, they had polyjuiced as muggle women and gone to the bar where DEs were having a merry time, and joined them. The DEs had become completely pissed and the Alastor, Frank Longbottom, Benjy Fenwick and Abe had ended up arresting twelve DEs. But the thing that people still remembered was the four impersonating women – and very beautiful women at that.

Albus was all ears though. "I am listening."

"You are a master at Mind Magics, Albus. We will leak a Prophecy to You-Know-Who," he continued over Abe's murderous look, "not **_the_** Prophecy."

That elicited wry grins from the two Dumbledores.

"You mean to spring a trap."

"Exactly!" replied Mad-eye, glad that Albus had caught on to the plan very quickly. "For too long, Albus, we have been on the defensive. Now is the chance to end the war before we suffer any more losses. We kill that sick puppy on a day of our choosing if this goes right. Firstly, we find out who the spy is. Then we plant the proper parts of the plan into the brains of both this shite," (he illustrated his point by kicking Snape where it hurts...the most; of course the two other males winced hard at that), "and the spy, so that they lead him to where we want him to be. And we shouldn't bother to engage him in a fight. We put him down under very heavy anti-apparition wards, anti-portkey, anti-elf transport...you name it. Then we seal the place up, and blow it up with him inside; fair and simple."

"That is a very nice idea, Alastor; but there are a few glaring hitches. For one, I am pretty sure that Tom has delved into necromantic arts. So we cannot be sure that he will die, should we manage it. The second thing is that each real prophecy is recorded in the Department of Mysteries. And I am very sure that it too has been infiltrated."

"You don't worry about the second part. Leave that to me. I promise you that that matter will be dealt with. Do you have any particular suspicions?"

"Merlin! No. I don't even know who works there. But it is an important place as far as magical intelligence is concerned."

"Right you are! I'll deal with it."

"And the third..."

"There is a third?"

"Yes. Will the Potters and/or the Longbottoms consent to being the goat – sorry Abe – tied to the pole to bring in the quarry?"

"I have a way to convince them. Nothing ventured, nothing gained old boy."

"I have one thing to ask though, Alastor. What of the Prophecy, should we intervene this way?"

"Albus, you whiskered old fool, don't you see how open ended that Prophecy is? Which Dark Lord? Seventh month of which calendar is being referred to? What would marking as an equal mean? Does that mean that the kid who'd be marked will take this Dark Lord's Place? If we do not intervene, we set in motion a self-fulfilling prophecy. If nobody ever knows the real words, why would anyone care what it was, once the current Dork Lard is offed? Have you recently been shoving your head so far up your arse that you have to fart to breathe?"

Albus looked heavily offended at that, but Abe took over, "Nobody will bat an eyelid if you trap and destroy YKW. Do that by muggle means and we deal a blow to their beliefs to, Albus. Secondly, if we – and it is 'we' now, because we have heard and are involved – allow the prophecy to go through to fruition, some kid, if he survives, will be saddled with a responsibility he never asked for before he can even get out of his nappies. We are the adults here, Al. Why destroy a life when there is another plan to take advantage of this fortuitous occurrence?"

Albus stopped short at that. Why indeed, should he descend to destroying the life of a little child, still growing in his or her mother's womb? Why, instead of providing the child a safe haven to be born into, should he thrust the responsibility on its shoulders?

To sweeten the deal, Mad-Eye added, "If as you say, YKW is into necromancy, we can start training both children, and any other magical kids that we know will be born at the end of July. Instead of creating trouble for the Potters and Longbottoms, you could instead use their political power to enforce the necessary changes, Albus."

It appealed to Albus immensely. He was well aware of his advancing age, and this was a chance to leave a lasting legacy. Alastor and Aberforth could see the wheels churning in the old man's head. They were his friends, yes, but they also knew that he was at least a little bit vain.

"What to do with these two?" Abe asked, pointing at Snape and Trelawney.

"Dose him up with the Draught of Living Death and keep an antidote at hand. We need to reconstruct his memory of the night...maybe create a believable capture and escape story when he reports back to the old blighter. The 'batty woman' though..."

"I'll put her up in Hogwarts. Nobody else knows but us three, and Snape does not know who she is. She will be protected there."

"That makes sense. But I don't think much of your students, Albus – the elder ones, particularly. They could be reporting to their parents, or might be marked, themselves. The Prophet here will have to be kept a complete secret, at least as long as YKW is still around for the here and now."

"There are several passageways into Hogwarts. I know one that is in the Shrieking Shack and goes through the tunnel under the Willow. Once inside, I can apparate her to the currently unoccupied tower which was to serve as the Divination teacher's quarters."

"That works," Mad-Eye said, though he said it in a very strained manner.

Albus saw that both Abe and Alastor's mouths were twitching slightly. "What?" he asked.

"Just that I never thought that Alastor and I would be helping **_you_** smuggle a woman into the castle," Aberforth replied through barely suppressed snickers, as Alastor followed suit.

Albus could only huff in indignation.


	2. Building up the Offensive

**Building up the Offensive – I**

In the rare moments that he wasn't working on... ** _something unspeakable_** , and sitting placidly in his designated area (that was it; a desk and chair were too mainstream, anyway), happily cocooned away from the war in the comforting presence of magic, theory, and learning, the Unspeakable had to sigh in exasperated frustration when the tip of a wand made contact, ready to blow his Cerebellum and Medulla Oblongata were he to give the incorrect response.

Truth be told, the man wasn't surprised at all – neither by the presence of the one who held him at wand point, nor by the action itself. The cocoon he was ensconced in was of his own creation, and he knew every disturbance and every disturber, so to speak, and anyone who dared to hold him captive would instead be at his mercy. The man was irritated by the inevitability of the question and the embarrassing nature of the answer he had to give in response. He briefly wondered whether he should have guarded himself against such infuriating irritants also.

"What did Da call yeh, yeh miserable oaf?"

The man, who was seated, grimaced horribly. Every single time – every bloody single time – he was asked that question. He was sure that it was only for fulfilling the twisted sense of humour that his captive asked the question.

"Answer me," the questioner commanded.

"Tinkler, you damned old coot!" growled the Unspeakable. "You ask me that question every single time only because you like to embarrass me, **_Dangler_**." The man then got up and hugged his captor.

"How many times have I told you not to accept anyone directly? Always ask a question, damn it!" growled the captor.

"And how many times have I told you that I have complete confidence in what I have used as protections? I know everyone who breaks my reverie."

They were following a light hearted pattern of banter that they engaged in, every single time that they met. 'Dangler', though, did not respond. Instead, his face was set in a grim expression, much more than 'Tinkler' was used to. Unspeakable Corvus looked at his brother with undisguised curiosity, mixed with apprehension.

"What is it Alastor? You always tell me I am always too cocky about my wards. What's the matter?"

"I need your help and utmost privacy, Oswald. Something has happened that has the potential to change the war, if our side plays it right. But first you need to check through your people. Dumbledore fears that your lot have been infiltrated. Frankly, it makes sense. Their side has been using newer curses for quite time now – evidence that they have a spellcrafter on their side. And I could swear that I have seen their lot use time turners."

"That's impossible!" Oswald protested. "We check them thoroughly with a complete psychometric analysis when they are employed, Alastor!"

Alastor shook his head at his brother. "It doesn't work that way in real life, Os. Not even you people could ever understand the vagaries of human nature..." He gave a weary sigh. "Just do me a favour and check the lot out, as of yesterday, git. I can only wait till this evening at six for the results. Then I will hex every one of them within an inch of their lives."

Os could see the determined glint in Alastor's real eye accompanying his blandly delivered threat/ promise. "You wouldn't need to Alastor. While I resent this, I have to be vigilant enough. I will check immediately."

Thirty-five minutes later, fifteen Unspeakables, and Alastor stood in attendance as Augustus Rookwood was unceremoniously pushed through the Veil, before Os finally caught up with his brother, waiting for Alastor to explain at least the briefest outline of the incidents to leading to the events that had occurred.

"There was a new prophecy. It was told to Dumbledore, but his brother and I heard it also. While we are not even sure that it applies to the current Dark Lord, we were handed a fortuitous turn of circumstances. A Death Eater heard it. We now intend to modify the wording of the prophecy before leaking it to **_HIM_**. We plan to trap him."

Oswald looked at his brother as if he had grown two heads, each sporting a magical eye. "Are you lot insane?" Oswald asked reflexively, before he took time to think about it and actually work it over. "That's not a bad plan, really," he grudgingly conceded.

"So will you help with the Prophecy?"

"I will need information. What is _his_ real name? What was his past like? Any and all information you could give me about him could be moulded to make the prophecy person specific. The problem will be keeping it different enough from the Oracles of a Seer."

"How long will it take if we give you all available information?"

"How long do you have?"

"No more than ninety-six hours."

"Cutting it rather close, aren't we?"

"We have to use the DE we have, Os. It could be our only chance..."

"I cannot commit before we have information about how long it would take for you to put the plan in action, when you want to do it, how you want to do it, and so on. There are so many variables."

"I can't endanger pregnant women, Os. They are due by the end of July."

"But if you are planning decoys..."

"One of them is a Healer-in-Training. I don't really want to hear her rant. Worse still, a kid, even if it causes problems, will still be easier to handle, logistically, than a hormonal pregnant woman."

"There is that," Oswald conceded. "I will check up on the prophecy. I will handle it personally. If you want it in ninety-six hours, I expect it will involve some high-level modifications on the memories?"

"Yes."

"So that will exclude a mean of twelve hours to create a very thorough memory without noticeable kinks. And who, pray tell, will do that?"

"Albus..."

"That old idiot?" asked Os scathingly. "No. That won't do. I've got a nice young fellow, excellent at mind magics. His service identity is Croaker. Bring those dead-weights around, and I will get things done, if I can construct a good one after whatever information you give me. And I expect it within the next three hours, Alastor."

Alastor recognised the dismissal for what it was. Nodding at his brother, he vanished for his next errand – getting to know more about Voldemort.

* * *

"May I intrude on you and your family, this fine evening, Augusta?"

"Of course, Albus," the matron of the House of Longbottom answered, rising to attention immediately. She had rightly surmised this was Order business. "Do you need Frank and Alice?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do indeed."

Augusta rose to fetch the couple via the floo, when Albus stopped her.

"Augusta, I understand that this will be an affront to your honour, but something has come up which has made it absolutely necessary to weed out the traitor."

"Oh?" Augusta's frosty tone made Albus wince, but he had to do what he had to do.

"Yes. I do not suspect either of you three is the traitor. But I am going to have to verify the loyalty of every member. I want to be able to honestly say that I questioned everyone." The stony expression on Augusta's face did not abate. Albus sighed. "If it pleases you, Augusta, then I will start from myself. Would you prefer an oath or Veritaserum?"

"An oath would suffice."

"Fine," Albus replied shortly. "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, swear on my very magic, my life, and my honour, that I stand firmly against the Dark Lord. I further swear that my intention is to destroy him and to protect the common folk and the members of the organisation – The Order of the Phoenix – at any cost to myself, and I have not and shall not betray anyone who stands against the Dark Lord willingly. So I swear truly."

He released sparks from his wand to prove the validity of his oath. Augusta had no choice but to comply, however grudgingly.

With that out of the way, Dumbledore released a smidgen of information. "There is now new development that can throw the entire war around, Augusta. But the problem is that it could harm your unborn grandchild. Or it could harm the Potter kid..."

The second sentence already had Augusta on board. "What do I need to do?" she asked almost fearfully.

"I need you to convince Frank and Alice, and Charlus and Dorea, and James and Lily to prove their loyalty to the Order to us. Only once that is done can I give any more information to any of you."

"I will contact them all immediately," she promised.

Half an hour later, each of the people called were seated along with Albus and Augusta in the small chamber off the main sitting room at Longbottom Hall, sure of the loyalty of each person seated there.

"What is the urgent matter you wanted to discuss, Albus?"

"Yes, Dorea," Dumbledore replied wearily. "As a matter of fact, I do. Last evening, a prophecy was recorded regarding – as has been forcibly brought to my notice – **_a_** Dark Lord." He produced his Pensieve and showed those congregated the memory.

"I suppose you understand my fears?" He asked the two expecting couples.

Alice was the first to come out of the shock. "Surely you don't mean that either of mine or Lily's child will have to fight, and defeat, **_HIM_**?" When Dumbledore didn't answer immediately, she pulled her wand on her former Headmaster. "My family and I shall be moving out of Britain immediately! This problem was allowed to fester by the previous generation and I am not going to allow my child to be caught up in this!"

"And I second her!" Lily was not going to leave her child's safety to chance either.

"And I commend you for that decision, Ladies, but I am pretty sure that this wasn't why Albus called us all." Charlus had known Albus for a long time, and had even fought against Grindelwald's forces with him. Albus was observing them all watching their reactions carefully. That he had also given Augusta an Oath told Charlus that there was a completely different game afoot.

"Precisely so, Charlus," said Dumbledore in acknowledgement, with a nod. "While your maternal instincts are commendable, they lie very much against my intentions -" he held up a hand to stop the impending onslaught of protests, "they lie against my intentions because they will work against the need to protect your children. As of now, I am sure that the Department of Mysteries has been infiltrated. As long as the spy isn't weeded out, we have to assume that the fact that a prophecy has been made **_will_** reach Tom. Should you escape now, and the spy within the Order that we have yet to weed out tells Tom about it, it will paint a target on **_your_** backs."

Youth is impetuous, but between the four parents-to-be, their cumulative ages were still less than Dumbledore. That, along with the ingrained habit of obeying his orders calmed their tempers – temporarily.

"So what are you proposing we should do?"

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose at James' question. Only to a person who paid attention to such things would the implication be clear. James hadn't asked "What should we do?" No. He was reserving his judgement on whatever Dumbledore would propose.

"The problem with the whole matter is that we had an unwelcome guest. A Death Eater, to be precise. As of now, we have him captured and his identity has been placed under a Fidelius Charm."

"Why?" Frank curiously asked. "Why is a DE being protected?"

"Because of the Dark Mark," answered Albus. Lily and Alice gasped almost simultaneously. "I see that you have realised something. Please illuminate us."

"The Dark Mark is actually a perversion of the Protean Charm," explained Lily. "That means that as soon as **_HE_** calls, the Death Eater in question will have to go."

Alice took over here. "Now if the Death Eater is captured, he obviously can't answer the summons. If his identity is placed under a Fidelius, which is a fundamentally stronger Charm by precedence than the Protean Charm – though we can't be sure in this case, as **_HE_** has cast it in a perverted and modified form – the Death Eater will be temporarily forgotten by their side. So he won't be able to tell **_HIM_** about the prophecy, as he won't be called till the Charm has been removed." A look of comprehension graced her face. She looked at Dumbledore in mild accusation. "You mean to spring a trap."

If Dumbledore was only mildly surprised by that statement, Lily's explanation surely completed it. "Since he is being held by our side, and his identity is being protected, it means that you intend to leak the Prophecy to **_HIM_** in some way."

Dumbledore had to smile at that. The two women were truly clever and had him pegged almost immediately. "Were you still in school, I would have awarded Ravenclaw and Gryffindor at least fifty points apiece," he complimented. And indeed he would have. As a teacher, such leaps of logic were something to savour in his students. As a war general, it was a pain when his immediate instinct was to keep things secret and let people around him see only the smallest glimpses of the plan which would let them think they were trusted and thereby ensure their loyalty. A slight grimace involuntarily made itself known.

"You weren't going to tell us that were you?" Dorea asked.

Albus decided that he just had to come clean. Damn Potters and their love for brilliant witches. Still, that didn't mean that he couldn't extricate his hide from their wrath. "No, I didn't. The plan needs to be as close to perfect as can be before I can ask anything of you."

"That means you have more capable planners with you. The trap is not really your style." Frank too, had heard more than Albus said. The men were not too far behind their wives, just their wits and cleverness worked in different ways.

"Yes. This was Alastor's plan." Albus chuckled while James burst out laughing as Frank winced horribly and whimpered.

"The plan," Augusta prompted in an impatient manner.

"Ah yes. As I said we haven't fine-tuned it."

"Brass tacks now, Albus," Charlus **_commanded_**. "You can fill us in on the details later."

"Indeed. We intend to release a fake prophecy to Tom through the Death Eater. We will also make the traitor the secret-keeper. When Tom attacks what he thinks to be the Longbottom or Potter hideout, we use the DE tactic. Seal him in and blow him up." While Dumbledore said it in a way that showed his disbelief that such a plan could work at all, Frank and James each gave a loud whoop of laughter.

"Finally!" exclaimed Frank. "We can finally start putting the bastards down. I was **_so_** waiting for the day when you'd realise it, Dumbledore!"

"We should use C4, then?" James asked his wife. "The idiot will be blasted apart by muggle explosives. It'll be a massive prank!"

"For a change, James, I actually approve of this." Lily's answers made James' eyes shine with unbridled joy.

"NOBODY IS KILLING ANYBODY EXCEPT TOM!" Albus thundered.

"Well then consider that our resignation from the Order!" Frank replied coolly. "You keep letting our people die. Not anymore. The next time I come across a hooded hoodlum, I will kill. I won't use Unforgivables, but kill I will."

Albus had started releasing power, starting his usual intimidation game. Frank was ready for that. He stunned Dumbledore and took his wand, yelping suddenly when it became warm and shot sparks of its own volition.

"We use Veritaserum and the agent preventing its use?" Frank asked his friend.

"Of course," James replied handing him the vials.

Thirty three minutes later, Albus was being questioned.

"What is your name?"

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"When were you born?"

"3rd October 1893."

"Why won't you let anyone kill murderers?"

"Everyone can be redeemed."

"Why?"

"..."

"Why do you want to redeem them?"

"They are humans."

"You killed Gellert."

"..."

"Did you not kill Gellert Grindelwald?"

"No."

"Why did you not?"

"I loved him too much to do so." This caused a bout of retching and a cold fire to erupt in Charlus' eyes.

"What have you done with him?"

"He is imprisoned in Nurmengard."

"Is that where you go every thirteenth of November?"

"Yes."

"What will you do if we kill Death Eaters?"

"I cannot condone such an act. I will have to report it to the authorities."

"Counter the Veritaserum Frank."

It took Albus five minutes to regain his bearings. As soon as he did that, he nearly lost his temper – that was until he saw Frank holding ** _the_** Wand. Then his shoulders slumped. Unknown to Albus, Charlus **_did_** know the legend of the Hallows – at least the complete litany of crimes committed by the Questers of the Hallows for some obscure obsession for power and immortality.

"Do you trust me Frank?" Charlus asked, looking at the wand that Frank held with both hands.

"Absolutely," answered Frank.

"Burn the pieces." Before Dumbledore could protest and before Frank could make sense of that order, Charlus had brought his hand down like a knife and broke the wand of legends.

Frank duly burnt those pieces.

"Since when did you know?"

"I know enough about my ancestors, Albus. The question is how many crimes have you committed with that thing?"

"I resent that!"

"AND RIGHT NOW YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN ME TO NOT RESENT YOU!" growled Charlus. "IN THAT WAR AGAINST YOUR LOVER-BOY, I LOST MY BROTHER AND COUSIN, MAKING ME THE LAST OF THE POTTERS! YOU NEARLY AIDED AND ABETTED THE WIPING OUT OF THE POTTER LINE OVER A BLOODY LOVER'S SPAT!" he snarled, spittle flying out of his mouth as he went into a towering rage. "YOU STOPPED ME FROM KILLING THE MAN WHO KILLED ADRIAN AND FLEAMONT! ALL BECAUSE YOU DON'T ABIDE RETALIATORY STRIKES, DAMN IT!"

If Dumbledore thought that he was just going to be struck down for that long-held grudge, he was wrong. "THEN YOU STOPPED BENJY FROM KILLING THAT BEAST, DOLOHOV, WHO MURDERED HIM A WEEK LATER! LOOK AT HOW MANY WE HAVE LOST! GERALD, BENJY, DORCAS, CARADOC, MICHAEL SIMPSON... HOW DO YOU DARE SHOW ME YOUR SANCTIMONIOUS FACE, YOU BASTARD? YOU SENT THEM ALL TO DIE!"

"Char-Dad, please, calm down, please..." Lily pled. Charlus was really someone she cared about, a man who had willingly treated her more as a daughter than a daughter-in-law. She knew that he had kept his cool for too long as he saw friends die around him. Frank, James, Alice and Augusta too pitched in. This was something that had really been in the offing for quite a long time.

"No! I must speak this. There have been three breakouts from Azkaban, THREE! And each of those people has killed again and again. I am tired of this!"

"And you think I am not?" countered Albus. "You think I like to see my people, my students dying?"

"Then why stop us from doing anything about it?"

It was very intimidating for the other five to watch the two war veterans go at each other. Neither was giving an inch.

"And stain our hands?"

"I would kill them and dance on their bones – to borrow a goblin expression – than see my family die. And if it stains my soul, then so be it. I don't believe there is much to judge me for once I die anyway. I would rather die keeping my family safe! Or is it Tom Riddle who you want to protect and redeem now? What next? Going to sacrifice my unborn grandchild? Or Augusta's? And then perhaps you will convince us to sacrifice the muggleborn children that the Death Eaters will annihilate by us being inactive, moral and naive; you'd allow that, won't you?" The venom in Charlus' sarcastic words was eating away at Albus.

"Shut up!" It had been years and years since Albus had spoken that way. He normally used a calm demeanour and infuriatingly flowery language. "I have heard enough from you, Charlus. I say no to killing, because I have experienced how causing death or suspecting that you have done so can destroy a person! I don't want that for my students!"

"You need live students in the first place for you to pass on your wisdom to! And I am not advocating the murder of innocents. I am informing you, that from now on, every DE will be killed by my wand, and that of my wife, my son, his wife, Frank, Alice and Augusta. Any attacker **_will_** die." The two men glared at each other, before Charlus brusquely said, "I think we have wasted enough time on this. We won't let you know if we dispose of some DE scum. You don't trouble us. I will make sure that I speak to Alastor also."

Dumbledore grimaced and grumbled. He was at the power of these people. They had destroyed The Quest forever. "Alright; but I believe that beyond the plan to take Tom out, we have reached a parting of ways as far as the war is concerned."

Charlus just shrugged. "I will see him out when this meeting is done, Gus. And I will expect complete information from you, Mr. Dumbledore."

It was obvious that the two families he was hoping to have on his side were going on the offensive against him **_and_** Tom. Dumbledore had never felt as unnerved as he was feeling then. It was like sitting in a group to play cards only to then realise that the cards he had been dealt were meaningless. For Charlus to now openly champion force against the people who could be redeemed blew his idea out of the water. He couldn't let this man know everything, now more than ever. He had of course not bargained for Dorea piecing together the information sequentially. It really was unfair for him. Seven against one – with one of them a Black, another an old hand at politics, one the supposed brightest-witch-of-her-age and another woman who could give said witch a run for her money, and three equally clever men – were a potent enough group to unwind Albus, if they cared to do so, and were therefore terrible odds.

"So let me get this straight. You heard a prophecy – and it simply can't have been in Hogwarts, or there wouldn't have been an eavesdropper. Said prophecy refers to either mine or Augusta's grandchild. You have caught the eavesdropper. I would go forth to say that it was completely Alastor's idea to spring a trap. You must have wanted to leave that scum alone and leak the real prophecy so that **_HE_** would make a move and be brought down in the interim; so a charge against you for being accessory to the murder of whichever Ancient and Most Noble line that Riddle would target." She was observing Albus closely and Albus didn't give anymore reaction than an involuntary wince. Dorea smiled grimly.

"So now I want the name of the Death Eater. **_If_** we agree to **_Alastor's plan_** , we will then want the Death Eater culled."

Albus just couldn't understand how and when he lost control of the meeting. The way Dorea was speaking, it was obvious that she would now ensure that the Potters and Longbottoms would bother themselves only with what Alastor could **_convince_** them to do.

"Now, since you apparently have agreed to **Alastor's** plan, and have the Fidelius in place, but knowing Alastor, he won't take the chance of Riddle knowing there was a live Death Eater who he couldn't call which would give the game away. So he must be in a magical imitated state of death. Draught of Living Death?"

As much as Albus hated the woman at the moment, he had to marvel at the way she was picking everything that wasn't being said. "Then, you leak a version of the Prophecy to Riddle by implanting a false memory of overhearing but not being caught into the eavesdropper's head. Of course, Tom will ask his harem about any magical children being born at the time that the Prophecy specifies. So the mole in the Order will tell him about our grandchildren, essentially making our families the bait. The traitor then becomes the secret-keeper of the trap, and we blow up the Dark One."

With nothing but the identity of the Death Eater left to hide, Albus had to finally accept that he had lost the game with these people. "Yes. A complete and correct summary, as it is."

Dorea looked at her friend. Augusta now had enough information to manipulate Dumbledore.

"We want a sample of this Death Eater's blood. You haven't done a good job of convincing us at all. Irrespective of whether or not we agree, your actions have nearly condemned us all to death. We **_will_** track this Death Eater down. And we **_will_** track the traitor in the Order down as well. If we decide to accept Alastor's plan, we will then ensure that these two are brought to justice and killed." Augusta's tone brooked no argument.

"Is it really necessary?" Albus asked weakly.

"You have some nerve to ask that, Albus. You thought it was necessary to kill our families."

"Augusta! I strongly resent this statement."

"What makes you think that I care? You will do as I say, or I will-"

"We will," interrupted Charlus.

"We will," Augusta acknowledged. "We will declare that we absolute neutrality. We obviously have named Riddle as an enemy of our Houses and will also release his origins going against what you have said, but you shall receive the same honour," intoned Augusta Longbottom nee Rosier, ensuring that Albus knew exactly who he was up against.

Albus gave one of his exaggerated sighs – only this time, it was completely genuine. He had never envisioned the meeting going so bad. He looked to each of them in turn, and when his gaze zeroed in on Lily, he realised – or rather, thought that he still had one card to play.

"Would you have no mercy on a friend, Lily?"

"Who was it Mr. Dumbledore?" While Lily was nearly devastated, she had prepared for such an eventuality.

"Severus," Albus replied softly.

"Snivellus!" snarled James and Frank in unison. James felt particularly vindicated. He had always despised the greasy man.

Lily wanted to say that he wasn't her friend. Lily wanted to say that he would be killed anyway. There were many more things that she wanted to say. But then she realised that this was a clear manipulation. She decided to turn the game on him. She put on a very hurt but determined mien, and brought forth all the memories of her friendship with Snape. Such a sudden change in her behaviour would mean Albus attempting Legillimency. She hated it, but knew that this way Albus would not suspect her true motives.

"I don't want him dead. And you can attempt to reform him." She shook her head to silence the others, but squeezed and tapped James' hand. "He had a hard life. You are using him." Her voice was really sorrowful as she said that. "But I agree with Augusta in that we want his blood, and we want to be there when you extract it, and we will have Alastor verify that it is him." She said it in such an earnest way, that everyone heard the "I hope it isn't him" that she hadn't spoken. "I can only give him one more chance. The same goes for the traitor. I hope it can be resolved without the intervention of the Law."

Albus smiled, while the others looked at the woman in incredulity. She had forgiveness in her. She had touched an avenue that he had not realised, but had also quickly closed it down. It was all that he could get at the moment, but he knew he had a weak point, the only chink in their armour.

"Of course, my girl," Albus said in his kindly-grandfather manner.

Augusta looked at Lily with unabashed shock and anger, before she turned to Dumbledore, even as James started venting anger at his wife. "I think you should go, Albus. We will get back to Alastor later."

Albus obeyed the dismissal with a smile.

Once he was gone, James scanned the room for any listening charms and the like, while the others started berating Lily for her stance. He then turned to them all with a wry smile, and said, "Please let us hear her out. What do you have in mind, Lils?"

Lily did love James, and at that moment, she loved him even more. He had understood the sign she gave him and had played along perfectly. "We know that Albus was trying to manipulate me. Snivellus is a dead man walking – he was one ever since he joined the DEs. I just wanted Albus to think that he had one a small victory. He had to take away something that he would assume as a positive from the meeting, didn't he? Otherwise, he would keep us out of the loop and still use us." She smirked at James' comprehending look and the bewilderment of the others.

"Of course I don't want him dead, nor do I want him to be tried by the Wizengamot where he will only get a light sentence; and none at all, if he betrays any DEs. That he is still alive while he is useful to us is the only 'chance' he gets. When he tells his Master the **_'Prophecy'_** , he will lose it. After that, he will be fair game. He spat on my friendship. And he is a Death Eater and therefore a criminal. So **_I_** will kill him, after the current matter is resolved, and my child is born."

Dorea looked at her daughter-in-law with wonder and amusement and then laughed. "I knew I liked you, Lily! You would have done well as a Black!"

"Hey! I am not going to let my son be so inbred like that mutt Sirius is!" protested James with mock-rancour.

* * *

A/N: Why would the elder Potters and Longbottom know about TMRJ? They have been assumed to be in their early fifties - around the same age as TMRJ. They would know about him, seeing that he was Head Boy.


	3. Cleaning House

**Cleaning House**

Immediately after Dumbledore left, Frank, Alice, James and Lily decided to go a step ahead of Dumbledore and unearth any and all traitors in the Order before Dumbledore could pull another of his tricks as he attempted with Lily. The old man, while a good person, an excellent teacher, and friend, was also quite naïve in believing that DEs should be allowed a chance to redeem themselves. That apart, he had fought so much, that they had started thinking that he believed the outcome to be more important than the people. In theory, that might have been the horrible truth of war, but if one lost sight, eventually there would be nobody left to savour the positive outcome. It was the scum who chose to kill people. It would have to be their choice and actions that would initiate redemption. None of the four had any doubt that Snape would have run off to his master with the information had he not been caught.

Between them, the four made lists of people they were closest to, and therefore – if they were traitors – could be used to manipulate them **.** For Frank, it was Ralph Mason, Edgar and Robert Bones, the Prewett Twins and Emmaline Vance; and for Alice, Wilhelmina Coldword, Althea Brigham and Astoria Taylor. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon and Daphne Milner made the lists for James and Lily.

"You three will help us won't you?" Lily asked the three elders.

"Must you ask, Flower?" Charlus rhetorically asked. "Of course we will. Who do we start with?"

"The Marauders," James answered immediately. "As much as I would trust them all with my life, every single one of them has been gone for long stretches of time. It would be bad form to discount Mad-Eye's teaching' now. The rest of the people on the lists have been around and we have known of their missions directly or indirectly."

"The Marauders it is then," Frank agreed with a snap-clap. "Call them in James."

"Aye, sir!" replied James with a salute.

Alice and Lily rolled their eyes at their husbands' antics, while Charlus commanded, "Get it done today, you idiots!"

James drew his wand, and cast his Patronus, to call in Sirius and Remus, both of whom he knew to be in their usual haunts, first. "Padfoot, Moony, Marauders' emergency! Come to Longbottom Hall!"

Ten minutes later, both men were sitting, stunned and bound, with the neutralising agent for the antidote to Veritaserum running through their systems. When it ran its course half an hour later, the interrogation started.

It was Sirius' turn first.

"What is your name?"

"Sirius Orion Black."

"Are you known by any other names?"

"Yes."

"Which are those names?"

"I am Padfoot of the Marauders, the spirit of the pack."

"Who do you consider to be your family? What are their names and aliases?"

"James, aka Prongs, and Lily Potter, Remus Lupin, Moony of the Marauders, Great-Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus, Peter Pettigrew, Wormtail of the Marauders, Marlene McKinnon, Andromeda, Ted and Nymphadora Tonks, and if I can still save them, Regulus Black and Narcissa Malfoy nee Black."

"Do you support Voldemort or his ideals?"

"No."

"What would you do if any of those you have named as family, or any of their friends, are in danger from the Death Eaters?"

"I will try to subdue the Death Eaters, if it is sensible in the situation. Otherwise I will kill them."

That was actually enough. But James had a nagging suspicion that he wanted addressed.

"Have you proposed to Marlene McKinnon?"

"Yes."

"When are you going to willingly tell us?"

"I wasn't."

"Why are you not going to tell us?"

"Because it would be funny to just wake Prongs, Lily, Moony and Wormtail up early in the morning on the wedding day and make Prongs stand as my best man, so that I won't be the only nervous person."

"That's him," James declared in exasperation. Trust Padfoot to do something so idiotic regarding his own wedding day.

"When will you grow up Sirius?" Lily muttered, not realising that Sirius hadn't been given the antidote.

"Never."

Charlus and Frank couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up at that.

When he was revived and his control and senses were restored, Sirius looked absolutely mutinous. "What the fuck, Prongs?"

He quite forgot that Great-Aunt Dorea was still around. He was reminded of that forcibly when she ' ** _scourgify_** 'ed his mouth a second later.

"What? Why'd you do that?" He couldn't understand why he was being subjected to such torture.

"Sit, boy."

"I am dog **_animagus_** , Prongs, not a **_dog_** ," Sirius reminded his friend mulishly.

"That is true. But for now, sit and listen. Well sit till we get Moony's interrogation done." Sirius nodded dumbly and obeyed.

Frank fired the questions to Remus.

"What is your name?"

"Remus John Lupin."

"What is your birth-date?"

"10th April 1960."

"What is your animagus form?"

"I don't have one."

"Why don't you have an animagus form?"

"I am werewolf."

"Are you known by any other names? Which are those aliases?"

"Yes. I am Moony, the brain of the Marauders. Though Lily now claims that."

"Do you support Voldemort or his ideas in any form?"

"No."

"Do you consider James Potter, Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew family?"

"Yes. They are my pack."

"What would you do if they or any of their friends are endangered?"

"I would protect them with my life if need be."

That was it.

Funnily, Moony had exactly the same reaction and the same reaction to his reaction from Dorea.

"Frank, I know that it is the tradition of the alliance of our Houses that we have always had the respective heirs of the two houses under the guardianship of the other, should the worst happen. Would you mind terribly if Lily and I asked this of Alice? I ask because I intend to uphold the tradition, but I had promised someone that they would be the godfather of my firstborn on my wedding day."

"Of course, James, it would be a great honour. I will consider the tradition upheld. I too must admit that Ralph is my first choice, for much the same reasons." After exchanging a glance with his wife, his expression changed. "Though, if Lily could do the same for my child as Alice will for yours...?"

"Of course," Lily happily accepted.

"Thank you Frank." Turning to Sirius, James intoned gravely, "You are going to be a godfather, as promised."

It took some time for the news to percolate into Sirius' head. When it did, he jumped up with his hands aloft and whirled around the room like a five year old on a sugar high, shouting in absolute glee.

"I shouldn't have promised him that while I was drunk," James bemoaned. "It will be like asking a kid to look after a baby! If I leave him alone with the baby, I am pretty sure that the kid would end up babysitting Sirius!" He turned to his other friend, who was very quietly but with a wide-eyed smile, and asked carefully, "Moony, you know that if the Ministry rules would let you have custody of the Prongslet, you would be higher up than Sirius on the list, don't you?"

"Of course," Remus replied with a beaming smile. "It is still sinking in, you know. A Prongslet...there is going to be a baby Prongs... a little Prongslet," he uttered the word, testing and tasting it, in a way. He must have liked it, evidently, because a moment later, he joined Sirius – albeit far less exuberantly – in his celebration. "We are going to have a new Marauder!" Then he looked at Frank and Alice, and corrected himself. "We are going to have two little marauders!"

"And I thought he was the sane one." Augusta's very loud musing brought the attention back to the others in the room.

"Sorry!" both sheepishly apologised.

"There is more though," Charlus started, taking over the reins of the matter. James always had the tendency to get carried away around the two fools.

Charlus' grave tone put a damper on the celebrations. "Yes?"

"We just had a meeting with Albus..." He went on to explain the prophecy and the plan in the vaguest possible terms, though he hinted at who the Death Eater was (Dumbledore alone could name him explicitly, as he was the secret-keeper) heavily enough for the placid werewolf to let out an animalistic snarl, and say, "I won't be executed if I kill him this time." They were also told about Dumbledore's attempt at manipulating Lily, which had triggered the interrogation.

"You mean you told that barmy old Headmaster that you knocked up Lily-flower, and not us? I am hurt! I am so very much hurt!" cried Sirius in outrage.

"Padfoot!" shouted Lily. "Stop this nonsense at once!" Sirius stopped protesting at once.

"We had to get the ladies off active duty, Sirius," Frank explained. The Marauders and very, very, very rarely, Lily were sometimes so much like kids themselves, that, Frank feared that he would end up babysitting them as well. And he was only three years their senior.

"What do we do now, Charlus?" Remus asked, overriding the walking accident that was Sirius.

It was Dorea, though who answered. "Right now, Remus, I think you should do what Albus wants you to. He is likely to check through the Order in the coming days. It wouldn't do for him to know that we have stolen a march on both him and You-Know-Who."

That made sense to Remus. As much as he was indebted to Albus, nothing he asked would come at the safety of his pack.

"The other thing I want you to do is keep a tab on the people on these lists. Since it is obvious, that, the people on them that will be proven trustworthy will be informed about the happenings of today, we will have to get them together and form an Order within the Order. We will need a very strong secrecy Vow, and a way to prevent them from being forced to break it. You needn't place that above the assigned Order work, but I trust that between you, Lily and Alice, you will be able to come up with something."

That again was something Remus could see the sense in. What Dorea was suggesting was something like a coven, centred on two possibly prophesied children. Secrecy and protection would be important. This was right up his alley.

"As for you Sirius, I need you to convince Arcturus that serving **_HIM_** is against the tenets of the Blacks."

"I would happily do it, Aunt Dorea, but how?"

"You know that **_HIS_** father is a muggle, don't you?" Sirius could only look at Dorea with wide-eyed disbelief. Dorea nodded and continued, "I am going to write my dear old brother a letter and give him evidence. I want you to speak to him and get him to deal with Regulus, Bellatrix and her husband and his brother, and Narcissa and Lucius. Ask him from me whether he is happy to have his House members serving a half-blood bastard, whose mother could seduce his father only by the use of potions."

Sirius' shock turned to gleeful surprise. A chance to thumb his nose at his family was not to be wasted. "How soon can I talk to Grandda?"

"Tomorrow."

"Yes!" Sirius accentuated that with a small fist-pump. Dorea could only shake her head at her grandnephew in fond exasperation.

"Tell me when you are done then?" prompted Remus. "It would be better for us to not be around when you check the next people on your lists. It could cause the real spy to get too cautious before you catch him."

Dorea nodded. James however stopped Remus. "I want both of you there when Wormtail is under Veritaserum. In fact, it would be better if you two stayed hidden for everyone else too. With mum's coven idea, I would feel it to be better if the proven ones remained with us for the time being while the interrogation list is complete. You could also help us explain things to them."

"Of course," Remus replied as he sat back down. "For what it is worth, Prongs, I think you are doing the right thing. I have been thinking recently, and something about Peter rubs me the wrong way."

"Oh?"

"You know how we always register our missions in Minerva's logbook?" He received a series of nods in reply. "The other day, I checked the logbook out of curiosity. I wanted to see what sort of missions the Order had, apart from my spying with the werewolves gig."

People nodded again and Augusta made a 'get on with it' gesture.

"Tell me, Prongs, how many times has Pettigrew been away for long periods of time over the last three months, saying that he has a secret mission?"

Lily raised an eyebrow at the use of the surname, instead of the customary 'Wormtail' as James answered, "Five or six times, I think."

"Six times," Padfoot concurred.

Remus looked them all in the eye in turn and then stated plainly, "He has only been registered twice."

"But couldn't there be a simple solution to the problem like Wormtail simply not registering?"

Remus sighed gustily, and ran his hand over his face. "Unfortunately, there isn't. You know how the muggleborn registry works, right? The names are put up as soon as accidental magic is detected, both in the Ministry and at Hogwarts. Just out of intellectual curiosity, I tested the enchantments on the logbook. They are very similar. As soon as a verbally agreed mission between Albus, Alastor or Minerva and the Order member starts, that is, first contact with the people in question is made, the mission is recorded. Six months ago, I made an attempt to infiltrate one of Greyback's subsidiary packs and lair. I broke away three of their numbers before I was found out and chased off. Since those three joined me, and now are either under the Order's protection or work for it, the mission status was deemed as 'aborted but partially successful'. See?"

Again all the others nodded. It was a sensible registry system.

"So over the past three months, James had two outstation missions, one of them with Frank where the two had gone to the continent to find information about the Scandinavian noblemen who were rumoured to be coming out in our support. The other was with Sirius when they last arrested Dolohov, who has since broken out again. Frank also had the running mission of covert checking within the Ministry – it has the status 'in progress'. Sirius and the Twins had a mission where they had to pre-emptively dismantle raids in Kensington."

"But our mission was secret!" protested James, gesturing towards himself and Frank.

"That is secret as long as nobody bothers to check the logbook. Let me just say that what I did was something I have done many times before when I dug your arses out of the holes that Minerva threatened to bury you in while at school.

"Anyway," Remus continued. "As you mentioned, Alice and Lily dropped off the 'active' operatives list last month, and now I know why. I didn't know why, but I didn't ask either. Truthfully speaking, my actions very much fit the spy profile." He received understanding nods.

"Now we come to Wormtail. As I said, for all his claims of having six missions, he has only two registered missions. It is also particularly in the last six months, that we have been taking severe hits and our body count is rising, more than is normal anyway. Interestingly, each of those missions had been discussed in Order meetings, where anybody could hear them, perhaps even a rat? So if Wormtail is going on missions, and if he has participated in only two Order missions, who were the remaining four missions for?"

James had to sit down. The evidence was purely circumstantial conjecture, but it all fit. "You don't think Wormy might be attempting to chat up girls in some obscure bar or pub?" He asked weakly.

"I am still giving him the benefit of doubt, aren't I? But that isn't the last of it. You know how he got hooked onto those half-sleeved T-Shirt things Lily has us wear when we go out into the muggle world."

Sirius, James and Lily grinned. Wormtail's fixation with the T-Shirts was one of the most amusing things to see when they accompanied Lily to muggle shops. The last time they had done so, over a year back, Wormtail had bought no less than twelve T-Shirts.

"When was the last time you saw him wear one?"

That stopped all discussion. It was just too big to ignore, and it had slipped their notice completely.

"I think we must get Wormy here first."

There were murmurs of agreement, before Sirius asked very seriously as he conjured rat traps, "Do we call Minerva and see if she is hungry, just in case?"

"As ever, your stab at humour remains of the doghouse version, Padfoot," was Lily's scathing retort.

"Have you ever heard Marlene complaining?"

"She will. She will soon."

"You are jealous of her, you know, Lils? You are jealous that you had to settle for James while she gets the Adonis come to life, the perfect example of males of the human species, Padfoot, the greatest-"

"- prat ever born," Moony supplied to much chortling from the others. "Stop barking, mutt! Go chase your tail if you've got nothing better to do!"

"Some friends I've got," Sirius moaned in mock-dismay, as he laid the last trap.

Peter Pettigrew arrived about ten minutes later. It was his consistent worry that he would be found out one day by the Order and his friends. That was why he was always on guard. When he saw all the others, for a moment, it seemed his worst fears were realised. They were also quickly belayed when he saw the happy faces. As a Death Eater spy, he had had to learn the micro-expressions. At the moment, all the people were genuinely happy. He let down his guard for a moment. That was also the worst mistake he ever made – not counting joining the Death Eaters.

Dorea did the honours this time.

"What is your name?"

"Peter Thomas Pettigrew."

"When were you born?"

"22nd April 1960."

"Do you have an animagus form?"

"Yes."

"What is your animagus form?"

"A common brown rat."

"Do you support the Dark Lord Voldemort, or his ideas in any form?"

"Yes and no."

The first word was a knife through the hearts of the Marauders. Dorea remained stoic.

"What did you mean by the previous answer? Why do you support Voldemort?"

"I support the Dark Lord because I am a Death Eater."

By this time, Remus, James and Sirius were the ones who had been tied to chairs to stop them from killing Wormtail.

"Do you support his ideas?"

"No."

"Then why are you a Death Eater?"

There was a little hope instilled onto the faces of the three other Marauders. Perhaps old Wormy was spying for their side, they thought, quite forgetting that he did support Voldemort.

"Because the Dark Lord promised to not kill me and to protect me."

This caused Sirius to blow his top. "Why did you not believe James, Remus and Remus then to protect you, Pettigrew?"

"You always made fun of me. I was always stupid little Peter. The Dark Lord promised that I could have power over and above you all, once he was done with me." Peter had betrayed them all over that? Their Peter, their brother, their little Wormtail was the traitor?

"Did you know that once we caught you we would kill you?" asked Remus. Of them all, he was hit the worst. Peter was once his pack-mate. Peter had managed the change for him. It made him indirectly responsible for the deaths of all those whom Peter had betrayed.

"No."

"Why did you not know that?"

"You are all the stooges of that muggle loving fool. You don't kill."

"How many Order members have you betrayed?"

"Three of the last six failed missions were because I told the Dark Lord about them. I think I am responsible for ten deaths, all told." Veritaserum didn't allow for any feeling to seep into the answers, which was good. The Marauders were up for some pest control.

"Who is responsible for the other three failures?"

"The other spy," replied Peter.

"Who is the other spy?"

"I don't know."

"Who do you think is the other spy?"

The answer this time was a blow to Frank. "Ralph Mason."

"Tell me, Pettigrew, do you expect to die at our hands?"

"No."

"Good. You shall go back to expecting the same." Levelling her wand at the unfocussed eyes of Peter Pettigrew, she erased any memory she had of the entire interrogation, filling his head, instead, with inane details regarding an early party for the Order to lift the sagging spirits, before sending him on his way.

There was a really long silence. A very, very long silence that quickly got stifling and suffocating, and yet was very difficult to break. Frank broke it with a succinct observation.

"That sucks."

"You don't say..." muttered Lily with blandness.

"Alright," snapped Augusta. "Frank, get Mason here, now. Where is he likely to be?"

"He is, on his own, a businessman with assorted interests. It seems treachery, and murder, are his new _assorted interests_."

"Really Frank, there is no need to pass judgement on Ralph Mason. We know now that Peter is a traitor. In spite of veritaserum, the truth can be subject to perception..." chided Lily.

"That isn't the point and you know it Lils. Pettigrew had to have something to place Ralph as a possible candidate for the other traitor. I was going to name him as the godfather to my child. I would have ended up placing my kid into the hands of the enemy!" Frank spoke, with every word reeking of frustration.

"You still can," Charlus pointed out. "We don't know for sure that he has crossed over."

"I also think that it would be wiser to stagger things a bit," interrupted Alice. "Get the Prewett brothers in next."

And so in they came. The Prewett brothers were cleared, as was Coldword and then Taylor and Emmaline Vance. The ladies soon left to tend to their jobs at the Ministry, promising to keep everything a secret from both Dumbledore and of course, **_him._** They also promised to come back later in the evening for further explanation. They were about to call in the Bones brothers, when Edgar's Patronus streamed in. "Bones Manor under attack. We are holding on. We don't have much time."

All the men, except Charlus, immediately geared up for battle. It might have been incredibly sexist, were it not for the fact that the Lady Bones was holding the fort with her husband, and two of the four present were pregnant and the other two were old.

Lily, though, decided to be the voice of reason. "Just be careful. We have yet to check either him or Robert or their sister."

"Ed wouldn't do that Lily," Gideon offered.

"Well we didn't think Peter would either," Lily countered.

The twins looked at each other and spoke in unison. "We did."

"What? Why? How?"

"We took one look at him," started Fabian.

"And realised he was the scaredy, snivelling git," continued Gideon.

"That always rubbed us the wrong way..."

"Well, there isn't a real way to rub one the wrong way," Gideon mused, causing Lily to gag.

"But we wouldn't have a bloke rubbing us," explained Fabian.

"Then there was his animagus form..." Gideon picked the thread of the real explanation again.

"A rat was so suggestive," agreed Fabian.

"There were the super-secret missions that never were..."

"And we don't think he would like to chat Yaxley up, really...

"Though we aren't sure that Yaxley likes other blokes rubbing him..."

"And we aren't sure that Yaxley isn't a Death Nibbler either..."

"But he is a git right up the Chief Death Eater's alley..."

"So when Pettigrew sidled up to him..."

"It sort of ensured..."

"That he was always our biggest suspect!" the two ended in unison.

"Now go!" Augusta commanded sharply, interrupting the one-sided verbal tennis.

* * *

Frank, Gideon, Fabian, James, Sirius and Remus really did find battle at the Bones' home. Immediately, the twins moved about to secure Aaron, Leanne and Dahlia the Bones' children, shepherding them out through the back door. Taking them together freed Edgar and Vanessa who had been fighting for their and their children's lives. Unfortunately, they were met up by the hulking dark-haired brute, Antonin Dolohov.

"Well, da leettle Proowet bloodtraitors, eesn't it? Meet your death." Dolohov grinned horribly as he sent a flaming purple curse which struck young Aaron across the ribs. Fortunately Gideon had cast a hasty shield. It still had done a lot of damage.

"Damn it. Giddy, take the kids and move, I'll meet you soon with this shite's head."

"But doo you not stun your opponents leettle Breeteesh weezard?" Antonin asked as he fired another curse which Fabian just dodged.

"No longer," answered the Prewett, as he fired off a fast chain of cutting curses, two of which caught on the arms. It wasn't enough to incapacitate the man by any measure, but the chain drew blood, bolstering Fabian's confidence.

"Ahh. Proowet comes out too plei, eh? Gut, gut!"

He brought out his full arsenal, and Fabian really relished fighting the monster. Both were bleeding. Antonin Dolohov was a powerful Death Eater, but Fabian Prewett was no weakling. Winded, the two still went at it. And then it was all over, all of a sudden. Gideon had banished a massive transfigured rock at Dolohov's head, smashing it to pulp against the ground.

Blowing imaginary smoke away from the tip of his wand, Gideon attempted a nonchalant demeanour that failed due to the quaver in his voice as he nearly saw his twin killed. "It was all entertaining alright, but I thought you were taking too much time."

Fabian smiled, then frowned, and then let lose a silver spike over his twin's shoulder, which impaled itself squarely into Fenrir Greyback's shoulder. "Turning your back on a werewolf that's not Remus... you are losing your touch, brother!"

The two grinned, and grasped each child by a shoulder, with Gideon steadying Fabian on one hand and Aaron on the other, and portkeyed off to Longbottom Hall.

"Augusta! We have got some very injured blokes coming through!"

* * *

James and Remus were fighting a new slew of Death Eaters. One of them, however, was very well known to them – considering he had tried to get Moony executed. Walden McNair saw the beast that had slipped from his executioner's blade, and removed his mask. The wolf would see his death as it tried to stun him.

Unfortunately, McNair had met Remus on a day when he had learnt of the betrayal of a pack-mate. He never got to raise his wand as he was dispatched with a 'Levicorpus' which levitated him very high and then the 'Liberacorpus' which released him, head first, breaking his neck.

"Nice work, Moons!" James praised, as they went about securing the entire perimeter of the Bones' Manor, the Ossuary, just as Sirius gleefully launched Edwin Gunter headlong into the wall, just in time for Robert, who had just arrived, to transfigure a chunk of the wall into a massive stone wall which promptly fell onto the downed Death Eater.

* * *

Frank was by Edgar's side as they watched Vanessa fall – unconscious or dead – to a curse cast by either of Thorfinn Rowle and Bruce Avery.

Edgar was looking aghast at the loss of his wife, as he stopped fighting and almost dropped his wand as he ran toward her. Frank could see Avery lining up yet another shot at the pair and dismissed the two Death Devourers with a well placed banishing charm that knocked Rowle and Avery out with a massive concussion. He transfigured them into two large blocks of wood and shrunk them before putting them into his pocket.

"She'll be alright Ed," Frank assured his friend.

Edgar wouldn't respond. Frank turned the older man around physically, grasped him by the shoulders and shook him. "Bloody f-ing hell, Ed, snap out of it! Vanessa's still got breath. Let's move her while we can still help her, fool!"

When Edgar would still not move, Frank groaned and stunned his friend, said friend's wife and portkeyed off to Longbottom Hall himself.

Longbottom Hall had suddenly turned into a makeshift infirmary. The Death Eaters had suffered a massive loss that day. With Rowle and Avery arrested, Dolohov and Greyback, and Gunter dead, they had lost five of their bigger names. This ensured that the mood inside Longbottom Hall was upbeat. Once Aaron and Vanessa had both been administered first aid (the curse had destroyed Vanessa's chances of ever having another baby, but she'd live), Charlus and Dorea had interrogated Edgar, who had understood the need of the coven, and had in turn summoned Robert, Sylvia (Robert's wife), and Amelia as well, the siblings proving their allegiances under the effect of the powerful substance.

"I _can't_ take Veritaserum," Sylvia stuttered. It was the absolute conversation stopper. "I'd rather take the oath, please." She looked at Alice and Lily in turn with a pleading expression. The two ladies' eyes widened in slight surprise and understanding.

"Oath it is for Syl," Alice promptly decided.

And so Sylvia Bones took the oath to prove her loyalty. Once disorder and noise had been restored, Sylvia thanked the two ladies. "Well, the little Longbottom and little Potter will be playmates to the little Bones," she confirmed.

Lily let out a low squeal as she attempted to hug Sylvia as tightly as she could.

With the twins, the Boneses, Coldword, Taylor, Remus, Sirius, and Vance in the clear, only Ralph Mason, Althea Brigham, Marlene McKinnon and Daphne Milner were still left. At this point, Frank and James started the second part of the plan. They made a document listing those trusted to the coven. Just in case whatever plan Moody was hatching ended up with one or more of the Longbottoms and/or Potters being killed, this document would appear directly to Crouch, the Head of the DMLE. This would ensure both the custody of the children, if the problem occurred after the babies were born, and the freedom of those trusted – ensuring that nobody would frame anyone on the document falsely. They set about casting a wide variety of protective spells and triggering spells on the document. It was going to be one of their biggest secrets during the war.

Once the Boneses had been reasonably patched up enough that they could be taken to St. Mungo's, Dorea and Sirius started going over their plan for Sirius' meeting with Arcturus. Apart from reining in the insane cousin Bellatrix, the meeting would go a long way towards protecting Regulus and Narcissa, and Andromeda's position, as well as eliminating the support of the House of Black to Voldemort.

All in all, within just eighteen hours of the Prophecy being given, things had moved into directions that neither Dumbledore nor anyone among the coven had imagined. That said, though, it wasn't a bad direction that they were marching in. The day had been very productive, even though their plan to get through to all the people on the lists had been scuppered by the attack on the Boneses.


	4. The Black Friday

**The Black Friday**

In the most secluded areas of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, there stands a manor, to this day invisible to non-magical eyes. A lone figure apparated just outside the gates of the imposing, foreboding and forbidding structure, clad in deep blue robes. The person was Sirius Black, Padfoot of the Marauders, a grim animagus who could never stay grim, (to his mind) the supreme prankster to ever grace the earth, and newly minted godfather to the kid of his best friend.

He walked with purpose. It was a mission indeed that he had embarked upon that morning when he left from Longbottom Hall, the ad hoc headquarters of the Coven, as the new group within the resistance against Lord Voldemort called themselves. It was a mission that he would choose over and over to do, no matter the cost to him. As it was, the worst that would happen would be his grandfather kicking him out of the family home. This mission, so close to his heart, though would let him do something that he wanted to do for the longest time.

"I am coming, oh Blackest of the Blacks, and you are going to have a splitting headache by the time I am done!" sing-songed Sirius rhymelessly, unable to keep the glee out of his voice at the prospect of thumbing his nose at his bigoted family. Were it not for the fact that it would have either caused his membership among the group of red-blooded males to be revoked, or given Lily more ammunition to call him a little child, Sirius would probably have giggled madly at the prospect.

The previous evening, as he went over the plan that Alice, Lily, he, the three Elders, James, Frank and most importantly the Prewett twins had hatched, Sirius had an epiphany – or two. He was going to prank his family. And he had become an adult. He had mused silently about the subject as he had lain on his bed waiting for sleep as he wondered where the time had gone. Just the other day he was pulling pranks that involved potions, a riot of colours and lots of people screaming in irritation. Now his pranks had graduated to House Business. "Hmm...That's promising. Pranking as a business... there are definite possibilities," he muttered. Shaking his head, he brought his thoughts back to the present.

As soon as he stepped into the sitting room, heralded by the magical alarm within the house, a house-elf popped into existence at his knee.

"What is Billy being doing for Master Seer-e-us?"

Sirius smiled at the elf. Unlike that piece of excrement, Kreacher, Billy was an elf that Sirius genuinely liked. Billy used to play with him when the elf babysat him during family meetings. "Please inform my grandfather, the Lord Black, that I have come to meet him, and that I bear very important news."

"Yes Master Seer-e-us."

It was one of the things that Sirius hated about the House-elves. They managed to garble almost any name. And Sirius seriously loved his name. It was the one thing his mother had done well – giving him a punny name, that was always there to make light of any matter.

"Lord Black being calling Master Seer-e-us to his study, Master Seer-e-us," Billy the elf squeaked from near his knee again, startling him a teensy bit. Smiling kindly – if uneasily – at the elf, the grey-eyed man strode towards his destination. Yes, Agent-Commander Black, Sirius Black, would be performing his mission as an ambassador, as assigned by M – er, Aunt Dorea.

Imagining the music in the background, Sirius summoned his most suave manner and strutted/ strode to his Grandfather's study. Keeping his voice low, and respectful, as his superior had commanded, he asked, "May I come in, Lord Black?"

Arcturus looked up from the paperwork he was perusing after a slight pause. It was the man's manner of putting his visitors off-track by reminding them subtly that it was "his House, his business, his office and his time. He was doing them a massive favour by allotting them time from his busy schedule, and they would do well to remember that."

Sirius had learnt the tricks at the very same man's knee, however grudgingly, from the age of seven.

"Grandson," acknowledged Arcturus. "Do come in."

"Thank you Grandfather," Sirius respectfully replied with a slight bow of the neck. He did not sit however. Arcturus had not invited him to take a seat.

This was the first time, he realised, that he had returned since he had escaped his mother and her all-consuming madness. If Arcturus wanted to show the relationship now, Sirius would not be the one who would be found wanting when he had a mission to accomplish so that he could help the most important people in his life. As far as Sirius was concerned, so long as Arcturus controlled his tribe of barbarians, he couldn't care what they called each other.

Arcturus Black had not accorded his grandson even the simple courtesy of asking after his well-being, in spite of the fact that Sirius had found refuge in the home of the man's youngest sister. Actions had truly spoken louder than words, and they had been accentuated by the stifling silence. It had been made quite clear to Sirius that he was unwelcome.

All through those years of estrangement, from the ninth of July 1976, exactly a month after his sixteenth birthday, when Sirius had limped onto a broom while suffering from the effects of Cruciatus exposure and had crash-landed in the garden of The Potters' Manor, Sirius had assiduously kept up the front that screamed "FUCK YOU!" at his family. Yet he had held a sliver of hope that maybe one of them would see sense. Andromeda did not count. She was sensible anyway. Regulus had given him the news about being disowned. And Sirius had made sure that his brother knew that the feeling was mutual.

Sirius had a family. It was the Marauders. He was now a Black only in name. He was Sirius Black, son of the House of Potter, brother to Prongs and Moony, and Lily as well, in heart and spirit, godfather to the future Prongslet, and the beloved of Marlene McKinnon. Just the thought of them all made him feel happy and confident.

The two men stared at each other interminably. "Take a seat, Sirius."

"Thank you." He was on a mission here, and that came first. Arcturus and his family could go boil their heads.

"It has been quite some time since I last saw you, Sirius."

"Yes, Lord Black. It has been three years, four months and twenty one days since I was disowned."

"So you feel the estrangement then?"

"Of course I do," Sirius returned jovially. "I have not been cursed with an Unforgivable by anyone, let alone in a House-sponsored attempt to murder me by my own mother in that time span!"

Arcturus stiffened at that barb. He had not known at that time that Walburga had gone to such lengths as to curse the Heir Black. He had asked her to control her son after he had brought shame to the House of Black during their negotiations with the House of Lestrange by calling the visitors inferior beasts that should have been drowned at birth and spitting at Rudolphus' feet. Rabastan Lestrange had also walked with his legs switched sides as well as his feet switching their front-facing orientation for a week. The heavily in love Bellatrix too had been reduced to tears with the unrelenting itching that refused to let up for yet another week.

"I didn't disown you," Arcturus curtly declared.

"Am I supposed to be grateful about that?" he snarked back.

Arcturus' face settled into a frown. "What do you want?" Arcturus asked bluntly. He snapped the door closed wandlessly.

 ** _'_** ** _So he is going for intimidation, is he?'_** mused Sirius. Arcturus could well have tried, but unknown to the old man, Sirius was the rightful Heir for a reason. The Grim-Animagus was the most powerful Black of his generation – and also of at least the last four generations. And if the Blacks understood anything, it was power. Well, two could play the game. James Bond would be briefed about the mission by M, but when it came to actually working in the field, Commander Bond would do things his own way.

"It doesn't matter what I want, Arcturus," he coldly replied, disrespecting his grandfather by using his given name. The old man blinked in shock. "I am here simply as an ambassador from Lady Potter. I have a letter from her that she wishes you to read. On the other hand, I am also giving you a warning, personally, that should any of this family bear the Dark Mark, I consider them my enemy. I am going to find them and kill them." The threat was delivered in the same way that one would say, "I am going to the grocer and buy a pack of biscuits." He extended his hand just barely to let the letter reach Arcturus. He was going to turn the tables on this old bastard.

This was not the Sirius that Arcturus had last known. That boy had been of the impetuous, leap-before-you-look type. But more importantly, he was innocent. **_He was an innocent boy_**. This Sirius Black was anything but that.

"You dare disrespect me?" Arcturus softly snarled.

"As a matter of fact, no," Sirius replied calmly. "I am giving you all the respect you deserve, Arcturus. Blacks don't respect failures. You are a failure. Please, read the letter, I have more pressing things that need my attention than you and your temper tantrums."

"So you have whored yourself to that fool of a Headmaster of yours, have you? You would usurp my position at his behest?" Arcturus goaded.

Sirius looked at him for a moment, before throwing his head back as he laughed a clear, cold, ringing laughter. "Rich talk from you, Arcturus," he muttered weakly. "You, who bow down to blood-purity ideals that your dim cognitive ability – which matches only your poor magical power, by the way – fails to completely comprehend, and allow your family members to fall to their knees in front of a half-blood bastard, ask me whether I have bowed down to another?"

It was impressive. Sirius had insulted the man's ego, magical and mental ability in one statement. It spoke of the fact that the very people he wanted to control had raised the Gryffindor as a Slytherin.

"Read the letter and stop your posturing, Arcturus. I am the only true Black. I bow neither to the megalomaniac Tom Riddle, nor to the power-fearing fool Albus Dumbledore. And I am here to take whatever steps necessary to protect my family." He still hadn't moved from the slightly reclining position in the chair in which he sat with his right ankle over his left knee. Arcturus should have known that Sirius was a Marauder. He had goaded the slow to anger Dumbledore into punishing them all once.

Arcturus took the letter and with that pretentious, small paper-cutter, tore it open.

 _Arcturus,_

 _I hope that this letter finds you in good health, spirits, and most importantly, sanity. I write this letter to you to register a grievance against your Lordship, even though I write this letter as a sister to a brother._

 _As you may no doubt know, several of the younger generation have joined the terrorist who claims to be Slytherin's Heir, the one called Lord Voldemort. He espouses the purity of blood. It is a concept that you have believed in all your life, and has led to us being estranged as siblings as well, because I dared question it._

 _You believe that showing 'the filth' their place is the pinnacle of pureblood glory. You, and those idiots that you sold the daughters of the House of Black to, believe that this Voldemort creature is the saviour, the messiah for the magical populace; that he will lead purebloods to their promised land. You are wrong._

 _Let me tell you about the origins of this abomination that you seem to want to encourage._

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle was born on the 31_ _st_ _of December 1926, just 17 days before I was. During his school days he tried seducing the purebloods with his wit and charm. He wanted them to power his rise as the scion of Slytherin, upholding their rights as the supreme beings among the earth's inhabitants. This man then went on to be Lord Voldemort. The fallacy of all this, is that the man is the son of a_ **muggle** , _whom Merope Gaunt, the last Daughter of that House, seduced using potions._

 _Now let us see how many 'pureblood' families have been destroyed by this person. McCauley, Marbish, Keller, Grouphin, Podrope, Greenberg, Porter, Kripper, Samblish, Chigs, Bergant, Shearbeef, Poultgem, Barophin... the list goes on and on. By my count, he has ended 24 Ancient or Noble or Ancient and Noble lines. Each of them was considered a blood-traitor. I cannot see the logic._

 _At the same time, he has killed several half-bloods; at least seven hundred of them, by my sources. He has killed upwards of five hundred muggleborn and including their families, up to twenty five hundred muggles. It is this person that you are tacitly supporting. You may not have the mark, but you are providing him the Black monies through Malfoy and Lestrange._

 _I am, in a word, ashamed of you. You have failed to uphold our tenets. You have let our family bow to another. You could very well be the worst Head of House, ever, and that includes father._

 _I hope you may still have a chance at redemption – you are my brother after all. Stop this madness._

 _You must –_

"That little lying traitor!" snarled Arcturus. "She wants to do away with me. She betrays her blood. She should be put down along with the abominations she calls family! She casts slurs on the Dark Lord's ancestry! I shall call a blood feud on –"

"Expelliarmus!" screamed Sirius, ripping away the wand in Arcturus' hand, before summoning all the hidden wands and weapons on Arcturus Black's person.

Arcturus was stunned. "You dared attack me!" he harshly whispered. "You dared attack your Lord?"

"You are no longer my Lord. I was calm thus far, because Aunt Dorea, a woman who was and is my mother in every sense of the word bar blood, made me promise that I would try to convince you first. You chose to turn on her. I tried her way. Now I shall try mine. Billy!" he called the elf that had greeted him before. The elf appeared.

"What is young Master doing?" Billy cried in horror.

"I am ending the rule of this senile old man, Billy. Go bring the ritual dagger and bowl. NOW!" he added in a yell.

"What are you doing Sirius?" Arcturus asked through a haze of anger and fear.

"What I should have done as soon as I came of age," Sirius answered grimly. "You quite forgot that as much as the Potters influence me in my morals, I was still born and raised a Black."

Presently Billy returned with his cargo, and set it on the table between them, before hurriedly popping off.

Sirius snatched the dagger and cut his palm with it, before he jerked and extended the ring bearing finger of his grandfather. With one swish, the finger was cleanly cut by the dagger bathed in the blood of the two generations. The ring, separated from the magical person, loosened up and fell onto the table. Sirius held the ring up. He knew this was a risk. The ring could reject his claim, and could remove his magic for usurpation. But what was life without a little risk?

"By virtue of my defeat of the past Lord Black, I, Sirius Orion Black, by Blood, Oath, Will, Soul and Magic, claim the ring of the Lord of this Most Ancient and Noble House of Black!" He put the ring on, and it immediately resized to fit his finger.

Arcturus was looking at the man who used to be his grandson with incredulity, awe, fear...and pleased surprise?

"So finally, you did come into your own as a Black, grandson," Arcturus said with a twisted expression, which nevertheless was discernible as a smirk coming through a pained grimace. "Heal me, will you?"

Sirius healed him. He wasn't totally cruel enough to leave the man in pain.

"You were always strong-headed, boy. I knew you were the correct choice to be Lord Black, eventually. But you were soft, innocent. I was worried. Would you have what it took to win and survive at any cost?" Sirius looked at his grandfather in confusion. "Would you be able to subvert the ring to your will, I worried."

Sirius glanced at the onyx-set-in-diamond and platinum ring with a bit of awe. He couldn't believe that he coldly snatched the ring after cutting his grandfather's finger.

"You showed too much goodness to honestly claim this ring, for this ring is bloody. It has the bloodiest history of all the old Houses. It has always passed through death or usurpation or through the Heir overthrowing the incumbent Lord. Did you then have it in you to put aside the damned goodness that you were learning from those 'friends' of yours enough to do what was necessary?" He chuckled immoderately. "You showed your cleverness, your ability, and most importantly your suitability. You took the Black ring without murdering me – thereby keeping the House's traditions, and you own scruples, intact. You are worthy."

Sirius looked at his grandfather in slight horror, pity, sympathy, and a lot of anger. He was still a bit shocked by his own actions. How could he have done it, really? He had planned on claiming the Ring yes, but he was going to coax Arcturus into abdicating for him. Cutting a finger? That was way over anything he could have thought of. It was almost as if the ring asked him to do so... No, he was not letting anything and anyone control him, not even the House ring.

"Well, I will ensure that my Heirs don't have to resort to such a thing. I will willingly abdicate when my Heir reaches the age of twenty five, and will make it a family rule. Stupid, senile fools, who hold onto power too long, suffer the ignominy of being ousted because they become despots."

"You would reject power?"

"No, I'm not rejecting power, you idiot! By moulding my Heir with love and helping him understand and accept the world the way I see it, my Heir will learn to be what he would need to be in a progressive world, the way I envision it, and the way the Blacks will ensure their survival without bloody coups – even coups of the sort that I pulled! The future generations will all be in my power, willingly!"

"But the history...!" Arcturus protested.

"Does the ring drive the wearer insane, grandfather? If it is so, I will get another crafted!" Sirius was getting more and more agitated by the moment. How had they not realised that Arcturus was not sane anymore? Well he hadn't been around, and given the fact that almost all the others were insane, there was a chance that everybody thought that things were normal...so maybe...

"I honestly never expected all this," he murmured to himself. Rubbing his temples, he thought about what he had to do. "Well, that's it! I, Sirius Orion Black, by the powers vested in me as the Head of House Black, hereby decree that Lord-Emeritus Arcturus Procyon Black, Lady-Emeritus Irma Calliope Black, Pollux Phineas Black and Astoria Millicent Black, and Orion Regulus Black and Walburga Andromeda Black, shall from this day onwards, be confined to the address of 12, Grimmauld Place, forevermore. They are forbidden from any contact, initiated either by them or by anyone else, unless approved by the Head of the House. So I have decreed this 30th day of November, 1979."

"NO!" cried Arcturus.

Sirius ignored him. The past three and a bit year were worse for the family than he expected. The previous generation had gone nuttier than squirrel excrement. He felt a severe oncoming headache. He really hadn't signed up for all this. At least he had Uncle Charlus to help him with this new madness. How exactly did he end up playing a prank on himself? Well the time was not for those musings. He had better and more important things to do, and fast.

"KREACHER!" he hollered. The elf popped into existence, next to him, looking like death warmed over.

"Master is telling Kreacher to sleep, but bad Master calls Kreacher. Bad Master! Bad Master!" he cried. Kreacher seemed just as insane. He got the usual happiness he derived when he called Sirius 'bad master' and then proceeded to pound his head with his own fists in the usual punishment.

Sirius thrust the ring bearing hand into Kreacher's face. "Look, you piece of vermin! I am Lord Black. I want you to send word to Regulus to come here immediately. Then do whatever you were ordered to do by him. Do you understand? Get him here, NOW! No wait, I will go one better. Billy!" The elf popped besides Kreacher. "Go with Kreacher and get Regulus here, now!"

Sirius was growing more confused and angry by the minute, and at the moment, all he could think of was getting over the day which was going nowhere close to what he had planned it to be. He snatched a quill, inkpot and some parchment to send a note to the temporary guests of Longbottom Hall, and thereby to send for help. He was soon lost in thought as he tried to frame the letter in the best way possible.

* * *

A loud pop broke in his reverie. Billy had returned with a thunder-faced Regulus. Kreacher had just returned from wherever he had been called by "Lord Black" and had informed him about the summons he had received from the Head of House. This was after Regulus had specifically forbidden Kreacher from answering the summonses of anyone but him. He intended to add Sirius on that list, but it would take some convincing, something that Kreacher was in no state to understand after his ordeal. He doubted that the poor creature would be in any state for a few months – and that played nicely into his plans. The Dark Lord would keep a close watch for at least a few weeks. It was only foolish to launch an attack on his treasures in that time.

But that was beside the current matter of Kreacher's health. He had reported Kreacher's near-fatal injury to Lord Black, so he shouldn't have called! Grandfather or not, he and Lord Black would have words over the matter, he had decided. One look at who had summoned him, though, killed that thought stone-dead. The Lord Black he faced though wasn't his grandfather.

"Sirius," he gasped. There was confusion now, on his face. And it did not show the new emotion he felt – happiness. Sirius was back. **_Sirius was back!_** How he had hoped to mend fences with his brother, almost as soon as he had taken the mark, just as he had known it was a fool's hope! And that chance was handed to him on a silver platter!

 _Oh, he had taken that accursed thing. His parents had been happy! Mother had arranged for a feast that night. It was all about the Heir Black increasing the standing of the House with his actions. He had kept a calm face and a strained smile, that day. He had not lost his control around the truly horrid persons he called family._

 _But within him, his conscience was tearing him apart. He truly didn't care for the blood purity stupidity anymore, now that he was faced with the reality of becoming a Death Eater. He did consider the muggleborn beneath him, but he didn't care for being a murderer. And that was what taking the Dark Mark had done to him. Lucius had done unspeakable things to a young muggleborn girl, aged seven at most, for some time while making her parents watch, even as Avery tortured them. Then the two had taken turns torturing all three. When they were beyond saving, he had been asked to kill them all._

 _The little girl had asked him with her eyes what she had ever done to him. She had accused him of being with them – as he had been till that moment. Her defiled and mutilated body had become a metaphor for his soul, for his conscience and sanity. Her beautiful blue eyes were not the only ones filled with tears as Regulus mouthed "sorry" just before he numbly murdered her parents and then her with three spells. He had only just gathered himself at that time._

 _But once the celebrations had abated, he had cried. He had cried like a baby. He had sunk deeper and deeper into depression and sorrow as his dreams were haunted with the images of the young girl. His health had deteriorated as a result, even as he craved the sweet release of death. He would happily go to hell, but he could no longer live with himself and the grating voice of that harpy that believed that she was his mother._

 _Yet he knew in the heart of his hearts, that it was too easy a punishment for him. He had made mistakes and unless he atoned for them, he didn't deserve to have a single happy thought. His iron resolution to somehow put things to rights had saved his life, but had ironically made his mind his own personal Azkaban. For the Dark Lord, too, the incident was not as it would have otherwise been. The incident would have gained Voldemort a mindless follower. It instead created his most insidious enemy. Regulus would bring Voldemort down, not for himself, but for that little girl and Sirius. Or he would die trying._

 _Sirius, who had been thrown out over his non-compliance, had been right. They were all monsters. He had made the ultimate mistake in joining them. He wanted to fall at his brother's feet and grovel and ask for forgiveness – something he knew he did not deserve. And a part of his mind knew that it wasn't just Sirius' forgiveness he needed. He needed her forgiveness too. And it would never come._

 _In his last warning, Sirius had said that he would have to take actions that would have such consequences which he would never be able to bear. He had been right. When he had left that day, Regulus had felt that he would never meet his brother again, and had been partially relieved and happy. The day after he took the Dark Mark, he had grieved over that very fact._

Seeing Sirius standing in front of him broke down the dam that he had created through sheer force of will as he blocked off everything he remembered from those two incidents – Sirius leaving, and the night that his hands were stained with innocent blood. Leaving Billy's grasp, he ran to his brother and hugged him as he broke down into noisy sobs, just as he had so many years ago when Bella had nearly killed him in what she thought was a prank.

"I am sorry, Siri! I am sorry! I am sorry!" Regulus chanted as he slowly sunk to his knees, crying his eyes out.

On his part, Sirius didn't know what to do. A part of him was elated, for Regulus had most assuredly come to his senses. That part of him recognised that he had his little brother back, and so very much wanted to comfort him. Another part of him though, was unsure. Regulus was also the man who had thrown the fact that Sirius had been disowned – even if not legally – by the family into Sirius' face. Was it wise to entertain him? Had Reggie taken the Mark? Was he, Regulus, his innocent little brother anymore? It was a dichotomy of thoughts and feelings that bamboozled Sirius, especially after he had just forcibly taken up the mantle of Lord Black, which too was not completely born of his own will.

"Reggie?" he finally called softly, grasping his brother by the shoulder. Regulus was still shaking with his sobs as he kept apologising, which somehow felt curiously cleansing for the man. "Regulus!" called Sirius again.

"I am sorry, Sirius!" he said again. "I am sorry! You were right! They are all monsters, Siri! They are all monsters! And I..." he faltered as another sob was wrenched from his throat. "I became one of them! I became a monster Sirius!" he ended in a harsh whisper as he drew the sleeve of his shirt off the marked left arm. "I tried to remove it, Siri, I tried. I swear I did! But I am tainted!" he blubbered. "I am tainted! I am sorry!"

Sirius looked at his brother. He had been a prankster, so even if it was not of the same level, Sirius knew all about real and faux remorse and regret. One look at Regulus, and he knew that those two R's, between them, were tearing his brother apart. If his vocal remorse wasn't evidence enough, the obvious attempts at scrubbing the Mark or at cutting the skin around it to remove it made things perfectly clear. Regulus was gutted by whatever had happened.

Sirius so wanted to yell at his brother for not listening to him, for being foolish enough to be drawn into his parents' and grandparents' words. He wanted to recoil in horror because Regulus had undoubtedly murdered an innocent person. And yet, he wanted to hug his brother back and console him, and berate him for being foolish enough to try cutting the Mark away, and to make him talk. "Bloody hell!" he mentally swore. "When did being Sirius Black get so f-ing complicated?"

Finally he gave Regulus a one-armed hug. "Do you want to talk about it?" He received no response. "It was an order, Regulus, framed as a question. Talk about it!"

And talk Regulus did. He told Sirius about his initiation, about how the initiation broke him and how Kreacher nursed him back to health. He then told Sirius how he would find out about raids in which he would not participate and rig them to fail, often even fatally for the Death Eaters. He told him about his stonewalling of any attempts by the Dark Lord to read his mind subtly and how he showed utmost loyalty when facing the fiend. He told him about how he had learnt on his own in the past year to live in muggle areas and not be noticed. He told him how he imperiused police officers to show him the records of the worst kinds of criminals and repeat offenders, and how he influenced the raids so that these people would be targeted. He also told him how he was researching all the kinds of rituals that Voldemort might have performed for magically enhancing himself or for immortality as he had recently boasted.

It was a massive leap of faith for Regulus. He never even entertained the absurd notion that Sirius might have come around to Voldemort's side – not that he had. He trusted his brother as he had never done before. And it also felt extremely cathartic. Lily would have laughed at Sirius being used in place of the parish priest as Regulus sat in an imaginary confession box.

Sirius, on his part, was absolutely proud. Regulus was showing that he had it in him to accept and correct his mistakes or at least atone for them. And he did that with aplomb.

"I finally found out what he has done, Siri," Regulus ended his story at long last.

"What?"

"He has split his blackened soul," Regulus whispered, and this time, his voice held disgust, hatred and fear.

"WHAT?"

"Yes." He then went on to tell Sirius the tale of Kreacher and the Cave, without excluding the either sights, sounds and smells as the elf had described them, or the ordeal that Kreacher went through. By the end, both had sunk half a bottle of firewhiskey between them.

"I finally found out the way to atone fully, at least to my conscience, Siri," the ex-Death Eater slurred. "I was going to go and retrieve that. Only then was I going to meet you, with proof that I was against that...that thing!"

"Are you stupid, Reggie?" Sirius slurred back. "You were going into a hostile situation without backup?"

"Well, I couldn't have exactly called anyone for help, could I?"

"Regulus, you are my brother. You are also an infernal prat who doesn't know his brain from arse, but you are still my brother. If you had only let me know, or asked, I would have helped you, no matter what. If you were still under his sway, I would have hexed you and set you straight! We are family Reggie; we always help each other..."

"I know..." Regulus replied, before his head dropped and he started snoring. A few moments later, a very bemused and drunk Sirius did the same.

* * *

"Mum, I'm worried about Sirius," James confided in Dorea.

"Why?"

He gave her a look that clearly asked whether such a question was even necessary. "He has gone into the house of Black after nearly three and half years, Mum. We had all promised him that when the confrontation eventually came, as we knew it would, we would all have his back. Pettigrew is a no-go, of course, but I think Moony and I must go there."

"Remus can't. There are dark creature wards on that property."

"Remus is not a dark creature!" James automatically replied indignantly on behalf of his friend.

"I know that. Sirius knows that. You know that. But that is not what they believed in. Knowing what I told you, are you willing to go in there with Remus and risk him dying?"

James deflated. "No," he agreed. "But I can't leave Padfoot on his own, can I?"

Dorea smiled at her son. Sirius was her grandnephew, but while neither he nor Dorea had openly acknowledged it, each of them thought of Sirius as her second son and her as the truly maternal figure in his life. James and Sirius had really been more like brothers. "I never said that, did I? This time, I think it is time for a daughter of Black to march upon her maiden home to rescue Sirius. With her husband and son in tow, of course," she added to cut off James' objections.

And so it was that at four in the afternoon, James and Charlus started inching away from the table where a newly revived pair of Black brothers – who had each been given sobering potions out of pity by the Potter males – while Dorea started working up a rant. For propriety's sake, they had ensured that Dorea waited for her anger to bubble forth until after they had administered Veritaserum to yet another Black brother to ascertain his loyalties.

Dorea's anger was always expressed in the coldest tones, most stringent and scathing words and with a glare that made the recipient feel an inch tall. A heavy dose of additional sarcasm flavoured it as well, making anyone listening on flinch in sympathy. She never needed to raise her voice. It was so...plebeian.

"You must be very proud of yourself, Sirius," Dorea spoke tonelessly.

All the James Bond fantasies Sirius had built around his 'mission' had crashed around the time that Regulus had come in. Now he was facing a court martial. He had the good sense to look abashed.

"Look at me, Sirius. I am talking to you, so the courtesy of appearing to pay attention to what I am speaking would be highly appreciated."

Both brothers looked at her sheepishly. It did not help her anger any to note that there resemblance to each other was marked at that moment than at any other.

"There is a very good reason why we had planned for this meeting beforehand. Was there or was there not?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"We had legitimate fear that we felt about you going into the situation. I hope you agree?"

"Yes Ma'am." It was always easier to just shut up and listen when Dorea raked you over the coals. If one argued, it always became worse.

"I believe that we have had words over you drinking before?"

"Yes."

"And have I, at any time over all the years that you have known me – right from the time you were a wee babe – made you feel unloved or unwanted, or expendable? Has either of Charlus or James done so?"

This was hitting below the belt. "No, Ma'am."

"Then you will agree that when we received no word from you, we would be worried?"

"Yes."

"Then please explain why you felt it prudent to drink in the first place. Add to that the fact that you drank while around a marked Death Eater – even though said person is your brother."

Sirius opened his mouth several times to answer, but each time he did so, the answer that he could've given seemed less of a good excuse than the previous one. He settled for a guilty silence.

"I am quite sure that your larynx works, Sirius. Unless you have added something in the whiskey that made you lose control of your tongue, I know that you can speak quite well. I expect an answer."

"I am sorry, Aunt Doe."

"No. I don't think you are! There were so many ways in which things could have gone wrong! Arcturus could have called you a traitor to the House and called familial judgement! You could have been killed! You could have been ambushed en route!"

"But I wasn't..." Sirius whined.

"I must have missed that," she replied. "You see I was worrying sick over a grandnephew that looks remarkably like you, that I really missed that my brother did not kill you!" Sirius grimaced. "Imagine my surprise, then, that when I come here, I find said grandnephew pissed and passed out, in the company of Mr. Black, a marked Death Eater, who also happens to be another grandnephew of mine. I find myself wanting several explanations."

"Alright now, you don't keep on calling me a Death Eater," Regulus protested, speaking up for the first time. "I have been fighting those monsters from within the...uh...organisation."

"Yes, I surmised as much, Black. I ascertained that with Veritaserum, so believe me, I know. I at least trust Sirius to know whom to associate with."

"Then what is your problem?"

Regulus hadn't had the same exposure that Sirius had had to Dorea's tirade. Deciding that he would rather keep the brother he had regained in one piece, Sirius piped in. He could probably head her off before she got going. "You want explanations Aunt Dorea. I will give you them. The plan went to pieces as soon as I entered your brother's study."

She merely raised an eyebrow at the way he addressed Arcturus, and in surprise at what he said. In answer, Sirius showed the ring glinting on his finger.

"You killed him?" she asked, a very faint, faint note of horror in her voice. It could not have been measured in parts per zillions.

"No I did not. I cut his finger though." Then his head jerked up as he realised what she had said. "You knew?"

"Of course I did," she responded, the horror gone now that she found out that her brother was not dead. "The ring accumulates a part of the magic and the traits of each successive Head of House. Since our House has mostly been Dark, it too became a somewhat Dark entity. Legend has it that the ring knows when the time is ripe for it to have a new master. I remember Arcturus winning it after defeating father in a duel which severely shortened his life expectancy by quite a few years, due to injuries. It was why I had not planned on you convincing Arcturus to part with it." She smiled slightly at the grimaces on the faces of the menfolk. "Where is he by the way?"

"Hmm?" asked Sirius as he was brought out of his musing. "Oh. I banished both my parents, and both sets of grandparents to Grimmauld Place. They are to have contact with nobody except each other. No one is to visit them and they are to visit nobody. He had gone mad. He started joking when I cut his finger and claimed the ring!"

"I wondered, really. We Blacks have been cursed with violently low life spans and a proclivity to equally violent mental infirmity..."

"That explains everything this git did back at school," James murmured. "It must have been a reduced effect in me from the maternal side," he added a bit louder than was healthy for him. A stinging curse from his mother found its target on his elbow soon after, along with Sirius' indignant "Oi!"

"Be that as it may," Charlus interrupted rushing in to protect his son from his mother and cousin, "the question still remains, what happens now?"

"More importantly," continued James, this time completely serious, "What have you been doing, Regulus?"

Regulus was silent for a while. Finally, he looked to the only person he felt he could trust at that moment with a questioning glance.

 _"_ _Tell them,"_ Sirius silently returned with a nod.

 _"_ _Everything?"_ asked a cocked eyebrow.

 _"_ _Yes."_

And so it was that the Order within the Order found out about the Horcrux.

Charlus and Dorea were horror struck. Charlus hadn't known of the magic, but Dorea was a Black. She explained it in enough detail for Charlus to shudder.

"Padfoot?" called James, who had been silent since Regulus started his story.

"Hmm?" responded Sirius.

"If we had a prank to play that we knew would be our masterpiece, and were worried about its security, what would we do?"

"Make backup plans and another version of course," Sirius replied blithely, while simultaneously dismissing this meandering by James as irrelevant and irritating. Then, he looked up to see three pairs of shocked eyes looking at the cousins. James was not smiling. He was grimacing. And Sirius caught on. "You don't mean?"

"Yes."

"Why? How did you think of that?"

"Regulus," answered James. Casting an apologetic glance at the newly regained cousin, James continued, "Think Padfoot. If we wanted to test a prank, but wanted to make sure that nobody knew a prank was being pulled at all, who would we rope in?"

"The first years," agreed with a nod Sirius, understandingly. He continued, "Or any greenhorn for that matter. We would ask help from someone who would seem to look up to us. It would stop them from snitching once we got help from them. They would feel important by being given the opportunity to help us."

"He asked Regulus for help. Not directly, mind you, but he still asked Regulus to help. He expected instant compliance."

"That means he has done that before with another."

"Why Regulus, though?" questioned Sirius. "Has he trusted Peter or Snape with it?"

"Peter he knows to be a traitor. He won't get that thing. I don't know about Snape."

"You are missing a very important point," cut in Charlus. "He didn't ask just Regulus for help. He asked Regulus **_Black_** for help. He must have a precedent to expect instant compliance – apart from his natural magical power and threat to kill even his followers. He gave it to the Heir of the House which valued power, and would appreciate his strides into the Darkest Arts the most, simultaneously giving House Black a warning, lest it should have any ideas of its own."

"Bellatrix and Lucius," murmured Dorea, faintly green at the prospect.

"So before killing HIM, we need to destroy those things."

"Yes."

There was a protracted silence, before Regulus spoke up. "Regulus Black, Bellatrix, Rudolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy must die."

"WHAT?"

"Yes. You must call familial judgement on them all, and confiscate everything they own."

"I won't kill you Reggie!" Sirius fiercely growled.

"You won't kill me, you oaf. You will kill Regulus Black, not me. You will also not do something so 'intrinsically pureblood' as calling judgement when you can just kill them, avenge Narcissa, and be done. Judgement is what the public will read in the papers. They will read House Black being reclaimed by the correct Heir, and avenging betrayal by unscrupulous persons."

"And who knows vengeance better than us?" Dorea agreed.

"A subterfuge," Charlus recognised correctly.

"But I don't want you to be cast as a villain!"

"Regulus Black was a villain, Sirius," the younger Black replied with a gusty sigh. "I don't want to be what I was before. This will help me create a new identity and a new life." Sirius couldn't fault that logic.

"You will of course be my blood adopted, long-lost cousin once removed, Eric Potter?" Charlus asked in confirmation.

"Why Eric?" protested Regulus.

"Nobody really gets to name themselves, son." Regulus only huffed in annoyance.

* * *

Marlene McKinnon cowered as she backed up against the wall of the hut in which Lucius Malfoy had cornered her. Her fear was no longer for her _life_ alone, nor for _her_ life alone.

"It is time to teach you your place, bitch. For too long, you have enjoyed what should be mine, and mine al-" was all that he managed to say. He was standing with his wand drawn, leering at her, and making the customary 'evil villain's monologue' when Billy the House Elf popped in behind him, and snatched him off to the Black Gate. A moment later Billy popped back in and squeaked, "Master Sirius is being asking his Miss Marl to come to the Black Gate."

He then popped off onto his errand of finding the Lestranges. He was in luck. They were taking a well-deserved rest in their hovel after a particularly energy-sapping bout of torture and pillaging. The work of Dark Wizards wasn't easy, damn it!

* * *

"Can either of you control Fiendfyre?" Charlus asked his wife, son and younger grandnephew.

The older grandnephew was sleeping off after another half bottle of firewhiskey, ensconced in the loving embrace of his fiancée. Killing of people in cold blood was new, even if it was necessary. It was finally a matter of cold arguments over compunctions that got one killed during wars. Logical Arguments won.

But it wasn't just killing them that they had done. Sirius, James and Dorea had creatively tortured the information out of them, never using the Unforgivable. Lucius had easily caved in, summoning the elf, Dobby with the Diary. It had taken them an hour to verify that it was the real thing. Bella took longer, considering that she actually craved for more. So finally Sirius had to use family magic on them all and break her mind open. The Hufflepuff Cup was retrieved from her bedchamber. Rudolphus and Bella were trying for a child, and they had taken to drinking aphrodisiac potions from the Cup to ensure that the baby would be like their Lord.

James had then transfigured the four into large wooden planks which had been placed into an empty, large box. They had all cast blasting hexes at the planks which had promptly regained their original form of the dead bodies of the four Death Eaters. They had then painstakingly re-transfigured the body parts into firewood.

A newly pregnant Narcissa too was sleeping in another room after her hysterical tear-shedding and cursing in relief at being saved from the monster that was Lucius Malfoy. Draco Black would forever be grateful to his cousin, Sirius, for protecting him and his mother from that murderer that fathered him, and he would strive to never be anything like him.

"Why?"

"That's the only way we can destroy that thing."

"Shit," muttered Regulus as he looked up from the book he was poring over.

"No. I have a healthy bowel movement. I can't do such things on command either, Eric." James guffawed as Charlus paled under his wife's gimlet eye. 'Eric' rolled his eyes, though he couldn't suppress a smile. Perhaps this was how a real family behaved. No wonder Sirius got addicted to that.

"I think we should move on to that Cave soon," James spoke after another hour of searching for alternative methods.

"But he is bound to check on that place after we release the news that these scum are dead!" protested Regulus as he pointed to the firewood which was made of the transfigured bodies of the Lestranges and Lucius Malfoy.

"True," James acknowledged. "But it is a place which almost nobody visits. We could just place those things inside, set the whole place on Fiendfyre, and let everything be destroyed. There will be no need to bother with controlling that kind of magic. There is a good reason why it is uncontrollable. It is the magical fire of what muggles call purgatory. Though it is considered Dark, it is actually a cleansing fire, devouring everything in its path, and leaving space for new things to be born again. The inferi, the three...things, and that potion will all be destroyed. Stone is not really magical, so it will act as a natural container. With nothing left to burn, it will die out, on its own."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him and blinked. A bleary-eyed, newly awake Sirius, who stood in the doorway behind James, finally said in surprise, "What you said just gave us proof apart from the Prongslet that Lily is rubbing off on you, in all manners possible." He had to duck to avoid the wad of parchment that James had aimed at his head.


	5. Shocks and Shock Absorptions

**Shocks and Shock Absorptions**

A/N: Hi! This is 'The-Kop-Who-Scoused', your friendly neighbourhood replacement writer. Well, not exactly neighbourhood, but with the internet connecting us all... Anyway, let's get on with it.

Before anyone else tells me about it - a prophylactic is a preventive, not necessarily against unplanned pregnancies. The word has been appropriated for the medicinal term. In general, if you take a vaccination, it is a prophylactic as well! Still, thanks to Essus1967, I have an idea for a one-shot of my own. Naughty Voldemort and the Death Eaters... catchy, innit?

* * *

The coven sat at their new unofficial Headquarters, Longbottom Hall, that night, listening to the Black Brothers and The Potters report their actions and discoveries related to Voldemort. In attendance were the three Longbottoms, four adult Boneses, Althea Brigham, Wilhelmina Coldword, Astoria Taylor, the Prewett Twins (the new additions to the recently dwindled brotherhood of Marauders), Sirius, Remus, and Emmaline Vance. Marlene had been subjected to the 'test' under Veritaserum, and had obviously passed, so she had been included as well. While British definitions of 'Dark' and 'Light' were ambiguous and confused under sheets of jumbled jargon, Horcruxes were a kind of magic that were definitely horrible in every conceivable way. It was therefore not known at all, never mind widely.

At last, when they were done, they looked out towards the others. Sirius and Marlene were sitting either side of Regulus, who had been restrained for both his benefit and that of the others. He had been tested again for them all to see, as well. He was now being given grudging respect, as far as Charlus could see. He, however, expected a better reaction than a stunned silence. Perhaps James had the right idea with a Christmas cracker? No. With three pregnant ladies, that would be absolutely foolish. Not to mention the fact that Dorea would probably hex his bits off.

"So," Daphne Milner finally spoke, with affair bit of awe, "You five actually managed to kill three parts of him?"

 _That's more like it,_ Charlus thought slightly smugly. "Then Dorea had to rain on his mental parade.

"You could say that, yes. However, that is not enough cause for celebration, yet. We have found only three parts of him. We do not know whether he has made or at least attempted to make any more."

"Oh."

"So what do we do now?" Sylvia asked with a shudder. She did not like to even imagine the sort of things Voldemort had done, and here she was in discussion about the truly heinous things that he had done.

Dorea decided to field that. She was the only one who could truly divulge much without divulging too much. "Before we sent Lord Black," she said with a nod towards Sirius, declaring the change of status, "our plan was to attempt to curb the more murderous of our relatives. Since they have recently had a change in their status to deceased, we have just got an unexpected boost."

"And we almost forgot about that!" muttered Frank with a sucked in sharp breath. "You not only destroyed some parts of him, but also took out the four most terrible of their numbers. That's a win in my book."

The glasses of all the people were refilled as they toasted to this victory, for victory it was.

"Thank you," James finally spoke, accepting the toast graciously. "Now, though, we have to decide what we have to do next. Broadly, we can divide things into three categories. Firstly, we have to know more and deal with any Horcruxes. And these may or may not be of Volde – Damn that stupid trace! – **_HIM_** alone. Who knows what prehistoric Dark Lord may have had such hobbies?"

There were nods all around. While it was truly horrible to think about, it was, nonetheless, true.

"Secondly," continued Sirius seamlessly, "We have to get more information about Tom Riddle. This was the man that became **_HIM_**. It can lead to more information to fuel our first objective."

"And thirdly, we need to find a way to get around the Dark Mark on Regulus." It was Lily who said it.

There were a few people who shifted uneasily. Regulus was still a Death Eater after all. Yet, he had been the one to find the secret to Voldemort's true defeat. Moreover, he was actually working to destroy the Death Eaters from within and had already given so much information that they had really gained an upper hand. He hadn't stopped at remorse but had worked to turn the tables on the Death Eaters. If the Death Eaters had a mole in their ranks, Regulus Black was a full-fledged cancer for them.

"What do you want to do? While the Dark Mark still exists, and while Mr. Black looks like, well, himself, there is little you can do. And so far as anyone knows, once the Death Eaters take the mark, there is no going back," Althea temporised. While she was Alice's friend from the Order and one of the trainees assigned to her at the Auror Office, she was actually an old classmate of Regulus'. She had been among those targeted by the clique he had then been a part of. That he betrayed those people and You-Know-Who so spectacularly, was nothing short of a shock for the muggleborn brunette. She was feeling rather ambivalent about the whole matter.

Regulus had been entirely silent for the whole duration of the meeting. He had recognised Brigham as the little Ravenclaw in his class whom McIntyre and Redbone were particularly angry with and picked heavily on. As he hung around them in what he knew now to be his worst time of teenage indiscretions, it was likely that he had been tarred by the same brush. " _Not that I don't deserve it,_ " he argued with himself.

"If I may have leave to speak," he finally spoke up, looking at his Great-Aunt and –Uncle and Lady Dowager Longbottom, interrupting the proceedings.

"Mr. Black," Augusta acknowledged with a nod.

"Thank you. At the outset, Ms. Brigham, I must apologise to you for being part of the clique that tormented you. I will not be so callous as to pass it off as my childish rashness. At that time, it was empowering, and only now have I realised that I was among murderers."

Althea gave Regulus a long, searching look, and then nodded ambivalently. It was too early for her to forgive him.

Turning to the room at large, Regulus reasoned, "As far as I know, there have been no concerted attempts to actively infiltrate the Death Eater ranks to understand or oppose the terrorist organisation from within. As an extension, we can therefore hypothesise that there haven't been any true attempts to understand the Mark either."

Regulus mightn't have been deep in the workings of the Death Eaters, but with his planning was considered a valuable Death Eater and was highly praised by his insane cousin as well. So he could say that with some authority. What he said was also true to the knowledge of the others, so they obviously agreed.

"Once the Department of Mysteries have been cleared of any spies, and there has to be at least one, for the tactics and magics used in that last few months contained some bit of esoteric knowledge that had the "experimental" tag practically stamped on them, I will willingly submit to tests and studies."

This was, to all intents and purposes, an unconditional surrender, had Regulus been a Death Eater. It eased the misgivings of several among the group.

"However," Regulus continued, "at the moment I do not think it is wise to deprive ourselves of the Mark as a resource. The Dark Lord has used magic which recognises and allows only those with the Mark to pass. I have witnessed that. However, there are no means by which to distinguish one Death Eater from another as far as such – wards, for the lack of a better term – use. A case in point was the attack on the park where two giants were let loose. It was a massacre. Most of the victims were muggles, but the few like Wallace Hopwood, who weren't, were identified and targeted so that they could not apparate away, or call help. Death Eaters," and here he looked at Lily, "like Severus Snape, could." Lily sucked in a harsh breath and her countenance changed to a very demonic resemblance for a split second. Regulus continued, calmly, "It is highly probable that he has put up similar protections around any other places where he might have hidden his Horcruxes, should he have made any more. To the best of that lot's knowledge, I am, or will be dead. I can easily ghost in and retrieve the objects in question, should that be necessary."

This was the sort of first-hand knowledge from within the Death Eater camp that had been denied to this group of people for so long. Voldemort was a mean bastard. He was a hellish fiend. And he was also magically accomplished and an exceedingly clever man who could have matched the best brains that the world had to offer. It explained why, until the desperate steps taken after the Prophecy, the Death Eaters had always been several steps ahead.

There was no answer to Regulus' proclamation for quite some time. People were ruminating on it. On the face of it, with no residual doubts about Regulus' loyalties and with the information he had provided, it seemed the obvious way to go. Moreover, with the destruction of the Horcruxes and the impending proclamation of his death, he could hardly betray them now. But it never hurt to check the cons of even something that looked to be a runaway success.

"At the moment, it seems to be a sound idea," Emmaline very, _very_ cautiously accepted. "But please understand that we will not rush into things like you Gryffindors and Gryffindors in Slytherin clothing," she added to Regulus with a pacifying smile, who gave a small inarticulate cry of protest. "The idea has merit, _if we don't take Mr. Black's safety into account_. However, we know for sure that this Mark is a Protean Charm. Do you know how to block it? Can **_HE_** know you are alive through it? Surely if he calls you through the Mark, and seeing that his four major enforcers are dead, and every Black he had entrusted a Horcrux to at that, he will check? Won't he know? Won't he realise who exactly our side has taken out of commission, or even worse that we now know his secret? Is that worth the risk?" There spoke the Ravenclaw deflating the fledgling hope that had bloomed with the idea with a bucketful of logic.

Regulus deflated grumpily, showing the people around just how alike the Black Brothers could be. Sirius would have muttered angrily to himself. Regulus settled for silent seething. The expression though, was the same.

Charlus cleared his throat. "Not contingent on Regulus being freed of the Mark, and with the blessings of the law enforcement authorities, to whom Regulus will be portrayed in a far lighter manner than he will paint himself as, I intend to accept my long-lost cousin Eric Marcus Potter, son of my father's nephew, into the Potter family officially."

"NO!" Everyone was astounded by Regulus' shout. "Don't bloody tell Crouch! His son is a Death Eater!"

And there had never been a better conversation stopper. In a situation so comical that most muggles would have laughed at it simply because of how cartoonish it was, but as it happened only nearly Lily did, every pair of eyes blinked in succession.

Frank got to his feet unsteadily and motioned to Robert and James. "Well, we best mobilise our units should Crouch have turned coat. Bloody hell! He allows for killing Death Eaters! We actually gave him a list of who is trustworthy for our side!"

That left the room in a state alright. Their efforts to not be compromised were probably already compromised.

* * *

Frank Longbottom never was nervous. Oh he would be afraid of things every once in a while and had known genuine fear. But he hadn't ever really been nervous barring the time he had asked Alice to marry him. Yet, as he set out to break in to his boss' office he couldn't help but break into cold sweat.

"I still think we should stun and interrogate him," Robert opined. They were stood outside the office they intended to ransack.

"Interrogate whom?" asked an officious voice behind them, filling them with dread. Standing right behind them was Bartemius Crouch.

The three men practically refused to turn around. This was awkward. This was dangerous. This was awkward _and_ dangerous. "Do you think he will believe we aren't here if we pretend to not be there?" James asked, attempting to force some levity. That was of course the Marauders' natural standby. When in doubt, joke.

"Potter, Bones and Longbottom, turn around, now!" Crouch commanded.

"Well then, stunner on three," Frank said with a grimace as they turned around.

"What is going on?"

"We are THREE!" Franks shouted in response. Thankfully, Barty Crouch was fairly confused as to why his three best Aurors were behaving like juvenile idiots, or people trying to steal something from his office. It would have surprised him how much on the money he was with his second guess. As it was, only Frank fired a stunner instantly. The other two were just an instant late, but their stunners didn't connect.

"A slightly longer warning would have been appreciated," Robert grunted as the three lugged the fallen man into his seat, before sending out Patroni to Mad-Eye and Amelia. As it stood, there was really nobody else likely to be in the building and could be trusted.

"What have you three got into now?" Amelia asked her younger brother and his companions as she rushed in with the Senior-most Auror.

Said brother gave her a sheepish smile and answered innocently, "An interrogation?"

"We found out that Barty's son is a Death Eater." James could be Sirius...er...serious on occasion; probably. It was a horrible thing that he only got to crack that pun joke in his mind, because Lily did mind him cracking it. That was another pun! "We have been quietly working to root out spies from our side and had assumed his innocence. Yes Mad-Eye, we were not vigilant, but let's move on."

Jokes he might have running through his head, but that didn't mean James couldn't simultaneously take charge of a situation.

This was a really serious situation, as far as the DMLE staffers were concerned. Crouch had a lot of respect and credibility, on both sides. It was likely – not obvious, likely – that that was the reason why concerted efforts had been taken to seduce his son to the Death Eaters. It was easy, relatively, now that they thought of it. The largely ignored son of an ambitious man and a loving but hypochondriac woman, starved of parental affection, had become enamoured by the beliefs of those that gave him even a smidgen of attention. It was a matter of damage limitation now.

The panel of five sat down in a semicircle, facing the man. There were of course the standard questions that they had asked everyone who was tested for the Coven. There were a few more that were specifically created for him.

"Do you have a son?"

"Yes."

"What is his name?"

"Bartemius Thaddeus Crouch," answered Bartemius Paracelsus Crouch in a monotone.

"Is he known in any other way?"

"He goes by the name Bartemius Crouch Junior."

"Do you know he is a Death Eater?"

"No." Veritaserum always took away the senses of the one to whom it was administered. It worked by affecting all other parts of the brain apart from the vocal controls and the memory in a way that anything that the person knew would be revealed, but the person would have no new knowledge beyond knowing that he or she had been questioned.

"What have you done to the list of The Coven passed over to you by James Potter and Lord Longbottom?"

"I have secreted it in my special chamber."

"What is it?"

"It is the place where I store all important documents and information to protect it."

"Why?"

"They trusted me with sensitive information. From what I know, the people on that list have taken out some of the worst Death Eaters like McNair and Dolohov, against whom I couldn't officially move due to being stonewalled. I am responsible for their safety as well."

"Who is the secret keeper?" A Fidelius was a safe assumption and would be really safe if the secret keeper wasn't the son or the wife.

"I am."

It was a very relieved five people who waited for the effects to abate.

"What is the meaning of this?" Bartemius snarled, once he regained his senses.

"We are sorry," Frank answered immediately. "We are sorry, sir. But we came across some very sensitive information personally, and we had to ensure what your real position on the matter was before doing anything further."

Bartemius wasn't satisfied at all, but couldn't exactly fault them. He too was from the Moody School of Vigilance. "What is it?"

"Your son, sir; he has taken the mark."

Barty paled horribly, making it seem as if he had been drained bloodless. "Who else have you told?"

"The only people on our side, apart from our source, who know that, are in this room. We are waiting for your orders sir. It could be a scandal that will make us all lose credibility."

Barty sighed noisily in relief. It was obvious that they had done the best they could with the information. Merlin forbid if a pacifist like Dumbledore, who was attempting to undermine his 'shoot to kill' edict, got hold of the information. There was also the implicit, and also verified, trust that these people had shown in him. He still had to know what they intended to do today.

"If you were a traitor, or were an imposter, we intended to quietly take care of you and your son."

The Head of the DMLE nodded approvingly. It was macabre and morbid, but the best solution to the situation. "It is good that you came to me. Your source is a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"Is this source trustworthy?"

"Absolutely," Robert answered without hesitation. "He has found the secret to defeating the Head Death Eater permanently. Snake-man is a necromancer. We have verified."

This was a lot of information and none at all. There were literally scores of necromantic rituals that could have helped Voldemort. And there wasn't much to hide with the gender. It was interesting to note that barring Bellatrix there were very few women among the ranks of the Marked. Mad-Eye perked up at that. He would have to find that information to pass on to Oswald, should the Tinkler need it to tie into the fake prophecy.

"Is the source a part of Dumbledore's Order?"

"No sir. Dumbledore would not know. We have broken with him."

"The Coven then," guessed Barty. His son had become a problem, but all the same the problem was at a stage where it could be controlled, fortunately, after it was identified by people he could trust.

"Your brother Oswald is an Unspeakable, is he not, Mad-Eye?"

"How'd you know?"

"I have my ways. Anyway, here is what I want you to do. Mad-Eye, tell your brother that he might get a live Death Eater to experiment upon. He will have _carte blanche_ with what he needs to do. If my son has committed that crime, he must atone for it and I can't think of a better one than to be a guinea pig. If possible, capture him alive and turn him over to the lot on the lowest level. As a recompense for the favour, get him to recreate a new man from my son. We can claim him as a spy."

While many thought of Barty Crouch as a ruthless bastard, he was also a father, who loved his wife, and had at least loved his Heir. The solution that the man proposed was one that would salvage the situation for both the DMLE head and the father, as well as for everyone else.

"Yes sir."

"Well then, off you go."

The five left his office. Barty sat back into his seat and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He really needed a wee dram as Minerva would have called it. He really should have married her instead of Olivia, as he wanted to.

* * *

"Boys," Mad-Eye called as they were about to leave, just after Amelia had done so.

"Mad-Eye," Frank acknowledged. "We needed to talk to you anyway." Glancing around, he stated, "A safer and more secure place would be better."

"Aye, it would. Let's meet the man who is to help us."

"Oswald Moody, the Unspeakable Corvus, I take it," James prodded slyly.

"How the hell d'yeh know?" Mad-Eye demanded.

"They wanted to recruit Lily and me. And I had seen him before in person. He has a peculiar gait, one that nobody else even in the department has."

"I can see why."

By a route that nobody else seemed to know, but was actually under a notice-me-not charm keyed to Mad-Eye and Oswald, the four traipsed to the lowest level, the Department of Mysteries.

"Has the war ended, Potter?" Corvus was obviously loitering at the mouth of the special entrance his brother used to find out why he had brought guests along.

"I did break my word in a way, didn't I?"

"Let's just say that I am not unhappy about it."

"Now that you have kissed and made up, can we get to the matter at hand?" Mad-Eye growled grumpily.

James shrugged spoke without preamble. "You clean?" he asked Corvus.

"Squeaky."

"He has made prophylactics to combat the eventuality of death: soul jars. We eliminated three."

"So with his basal piece, there are four."

"Lily agrees that it would be seven that he would aim for."

"But?" countered the Unspeakable. "I am assuming there is one."

"Everyone has a butt," James joked, before regaining his serious mien. "He is foolish enough in his power to either want seven parts or seven anchors."

"Ah, the Auror's reading," Corvus chided. "He can't go beyond the nine parts. The circles of hell, as the muggles call them, are actually the levels to which one soul can sink. Nothing goes beyond nine. And I agree with seven. It is arithmentically significant. Symbolism?"

"Founders' artefacts."

"Let's assume he found Ravenclaw's Diadem."

"Indeed. Takes us no closer to finding it, though."

"When was he born, Dangler?" Just because it was serious business didn't mean this chance to embarrass his brother could go unused. If Alastor did call him Tinkler, the joke would be on him.

"31st December, 1926."

"Look for five then. Even considering the fact that he couldn't have made one before eleven, and assuming of course that he got greedy and wanted the full quota available, he couldn't make more than five parts, including the basal self, till 1976. Then again, he is insane. He could coax out one more, so let us assume he has those two pieces."

"They are two too many."

"True." He then gazed at his conversation companion's companions. "Memory modification?"

"I do need cover till I formally join."

"Quite right you do. How about a birthday present for him?"

"Poetic. Ironic."

The dumbstruck audience didn't even have a moment as two Unspeakables in the shadows petrified them. They couldn't believe it when James Potter took over the conversation as if it happened every day. It took them an hour to do it, but the Unspeakables did fill Mad-Eye, Frank and Robert up with the story James wanted them to believe. It was a secret greater than anything else. He hadn't even told his parents or the Marauders.

"You brought all the information I needed, Alastor?"

"Yes, Oswald. Here," the slightly dazed man answered. James hid his grin by biting the inside of his cheek. Who would suspect, or expect, a marauder to hold that kind of a job?

* * *

That night, Oswald had the first draft of the fake prophecy ready. The salient points were of course, the initial part of the prophecy, the one about an oncoming saviour being kept constant, a tantalising hint about necromancy, without a mention of the Horcruxes, and of course a vague description of the circle of life and death being completed as the year dies.

Knowing the usual mindset of evil megalomaniacs and self-absorbed necromantic pissants, Corvus was convinced that this would be enough to bait Voldemort. They were fishing in dangerous waters, but the catch was massive as well.


	6. The New Prophecy and Baby Goliaths

**The New Prophecy and Baby Goliaths**

A/N:

 **1) An internet biscuit to everyone who recognises the Death Eaters and the benign, 'non-malicious', giant-and-troll-handler. There were a few more, but with me at the helm, they couldn't be Death Eaters.**

 **2) The original storyline left one of Voldemort's bits – the Ring for much later. This was to accommodate for later when post-Voldemort, Harry and Neville would be under Mad-Eye Moody's tutelage. I am dithering at the moment and think that ending Voldemort for once and for all before the children are required to fight – or even born, for that matter – will be nicer. That ends the story in 10 chapters at most. I will really be grateful to anyone who would help me decide whether to stick to the original outline or to change it – it's my first story, and the last one was my first chapter.**

 **3) There's this story which starts in the canon epilogue (sort of) in which Harry as the Master of Death (who has, at first, travelled back in time to the time when Ron abandons them) modifies his memories about loving** **Hermione. The problem comes home to roost when he sees her again in the Mirror of Erised. Hermione goes back in time to prevent Harry (the MoD) from changing things while the two are alone in the tent. If anyone knows that story, just put it in the reviews. Thanks.**

* * *

Within sixty hours of the prophecy spewed...er...given to the three A's – Albus, Aberforth and Alastor, gigantic strides had already been taken by the Coven. They had managed to hit Voldemort where it hurt, really. So far as they knew, a massive, if not major, part of Voldemort was dead. His most feared weapons – Dolohov, Greyback, Malfoy, McNair and the Lestranges were dead. So were Avery, Rowle, Gunther – the former two had been interrogated and then killed. With the Department of Mysteries finding and eliminating the spy within their midst, Augustus Rookwood, it was one of the most successful hauls by the Law – represented either by volunteers or by the unaccountable or Unspeakable Department. By all accounts it was a massive blow to the terrorists.

While Voldemort still had pureblood houses with considerable monetary resources like Nott, Rosy, Wolker, Tripper, Dyer, Carol, Winking and Cayne to fall back on, along with a host of others like Teddy, Smashford, Stooney and Ohwhen, the ones killed were the real generals. Those were both his chief financers and most effective killers. Losing them left him with a bunch of ineffective dunderheads like the spy, Pettigrew, for the most part.

As it happened though, the Dark Lord was blissfully unaware of these incidents. He was instead sitting at the Head of the Table, as was the custom, in the meeting room of the Kole Manor.

"Ah...Ashford, what news do you bring?"

It was ironic how the Manor's Lord was reduced to a messenger boy.

"My Lord, I met the Orwell and Goring-Hildred families, as well as Fenton. They have refused your grace. Every single one of their associates – the Chambers and Jenkinsons as well – has turned down your offer of power."

"Hmm... I didn't expect them to do so. Did you evoke the old bonds you had with their community?"

"I did my Lord. Well, I took a few along. They replied violently. I was the only one left standing, as a warning to you."

"Warning for me?" asked the Dork...er...Dark Lord in mild amusement. "Violent, were they? Well, let us just send our bluntest weapon at them, why don't we?"

Ashford looked on eagerly as his Master called for Walden McNair. Voldemort called once. And he called twice. And he called thrice. It was a bust. _Well, never mind. I can always torture McNair later,_ mused Voldemort. He called one of the other blokes who were trained to handle the trolls and the giants for him, Shockross.

"Take Gruldtong and Burgtrok and descend on the Blasting Boroughs," the snake-man hissed. "Take some more new recruits to help you."

His minion grinned happily. Voldemort was still a bit apprehensive and dismayed. This minion's trainer had said that he 'lacked malice'.

As the innocent little Death Eater (who was bereft of malice even when he sent bone-breakers) lumbered off with the two giants, and a mountain troll for good measure, Voldemort watched with a sense of foreboding. This really wasn't the best crop of enforcers he had. He had to let off some steam to calm his head. He realised that Kole was still in the room.

"Ashford, you did say that you failed, didn't you?" The minion grimaced in anticipation of what was to come. "Crucio!" screamed Voldemort gleefully. There really was no better way to vent some anger as compared to some good, old-fashioned torture.

* * *

Two hours before Voldemort started his terror business plans for the day, Albus Dumbledore was seated in a chair in the secret chamber which was an extension of the Headmaster's office, resplendent in electric orange robes with alternating electric blue and green tiger stripes. He was awaiting Alastor, the four Potters, three Longbottoms and Abe, as well as the two Unspeakables that Alastor had hustled into helping them. On the bed in that chamber was Severus Snape, completely in stasis and without any sense of the world or even his self.

It was the sad reality that Severus, a budding student that Albus had kept an eye out for when he was engaged in the war against James and company, was in this position, solely because of the decisions that he had taken.

Albus knew that his policy of giving the Death Eaters a chance of redeeming them was not as accepted as he would like it to be. He didn't go for universal acceptance. He, however, was not blind to the fact that every person was a result of his or her choices. Redemption, as he saw it, was not blanket forgiveness. He truly believed that doing unto another as one would have others do unto oneself, forgiving people traversing the wrong path or taking the higher moral path would really shame such delinquents into reforming themselves, into feeling remorse. Unfortunately, this method did not seem to yield results in the war when people were dying – at least they were not yielding results as fast as the people around him wanted. It wasn't enough for him to turn his back on his beliefs, but it was still enough to make him want to question them.

Severus, and James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, went a long way. Neither side had been composed of saints. If the latter four banded together to cause Severus trouble, the Slytherin too, on his part, retaliated worse than he got, and often with Dark curses, no doubt picked from the brains of the very people who had lured him to Voldemort's side. Severus too was not innocent. Sirius might have taken the fall for instigating the ill-fated meeting between a transformed Remus and Severus, but the truth was that Severus, who had snooped and poked and prodded the Black outcast and even cursed him in the back, was just as culpable. Albus had used that incident to practically blackmail them all into mutual exclusion and ignorance, as at the time was necessary. It was rather ironic how the girl over whom he had held Severus' status as a Death Eater was at the centre of that drama.

Before he could realise that his thoughts were leaving the prior track, Gilbert Oxlade, the fourth Headmaster's portrait announced the visitors.

"Please, do come in! Make yourselves comfortable! Care for a sherbet lemon?" Appearances had to be preserved, in spite of whatever maudlin thoughts occupied his mind.

"They have to be killed," the Unspeakable spoke without preamble. "At the very least, Voldemort has to be. There is no arresting him." The taboo had no meaning at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had abused it so much that nobody from the Death Eaters bothered to turn up.

Dumbledore was honestly thrust onto the backfoot with that. "I am assuming that you can explain, so I will request you to do so."

The Unspeakable retrieved a slip of paper from his sleeve pocket and thrust it into Dumbledore's face. Of course, to Corvus' companions, it wasn't any new information at all.

The genial, old, sherbet lemon-gobbling, kooky, jovial Headmaster of Hogwarts read the slip and turned paler than his beard. _Horcruxes_ , mused Dumbledore detachedly, _that thing made Horcruxes. He isn't even human anymore._

And that was absolutely momentary. In the very next moment, as he looked back up to face his visitors, his demeanour and persona changed to the Defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Order of Merlin, First Class, the most powerful wizard of his age.

"How do you know?" he demanded, once he had controlled his anger and brought his power to heel.

Prior to the meeting, the Coven had decided to be frugal with the truth. They would say enough to let Dumbledore know what was going on, if only peripherally, but Regulus would remain a jealously guarded secret. As much as he was a powerful wizard, and to an extent an ally, he had also intended to make the Potters and Longbottoms bait without divulging everything to them. Even worse, he had attempted to manipulate Lily regarding Snivellus.

"As regards to familial matters, I, Dorea Constance Black-Potter, Daughter of House Black, Lady of House Potter, invoke the magic of the geas of secrecy." A small pulse of magic and an equally miniscule flash of light engulfed them. "The new Lord Black, Sirius, in a bid to rein in the delinquents of his House, summoned them to the ancestral seat and coaxed information about their Master from the Death Eaters. Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, her husband and brother-in-law, who were both connected through her marriage into the Lower House, Lucius Malfoy, again under similar circumstances, and Regulus Black, had the familial judgement called on them. These were executed through Familial Judgement."

Dorea paused as Albus closed his eyes in genuine sorrow.

On her part, even though she had told him the lie that they had all, including Regulus, had agreed upon, it was still verifiable. Lily had, after ten minutes of calm pondering, pointed out that the magical deaths and births registry would deem Regulus _Black_ dead if Sirius disowned him magically and cast him out from the Black family. Sure enough, a line had scratched through the younger Black brother's name. A new name, at the very end of the book had appeared – Regulus Myrridin.

Each magical child was considered a child of Merlin, and until the name was accorded by the parents, the final name was always noted as Myrridin. This usually changed within a few minutes. As Muggleborns were only noted at the instant of their first accidental use of magic, which usually occurred after the age of four (generally true for all magical children), the Ministry detected it in the general area before investigating. It wasn't similar to the taboo, till the wand-maker sold the wand after casting the trace charm on it. Every wand sold to an underage magical held the trace.

Albus, on the other hand, was truly saddened. The five Death Eaters in question had trodden the wrong path and had paid the ultimate price. While the terrible secret had been uncovered, it still had involved young Sirius having to kill his own younger brother. This was why he hated wars. They pit brother against brother and destroyed families, as his had been.

"Is Sirius well?" he asked.

"He is holding on," Dorea answered. Vagueness always helped when one did not intend to disclose the whole truth.

Albus dropped the matter instantaneously. It would do no good to ignore the outcome, as it was. "What were these items?"

"We recovered and destroyed three – the locket of Salazar Slytherin, the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and **_Tom Riddle's_** diary."

Dumbledore's eyes widened suddenly and comically at that. "He made one when he was Tom Riddle?" he muttered faintly to himself. There was no answer to that, nor was one expected at that moment. He was deep in thought, and nobody else deigned to interrupt. Albus Dumbledore was a pacifist that they couldn't truly agree with, and the Unspeakables also held his skills at mind and memory magics and the more arcane magics like Prophecies in disdain, but absolutely nobody disputed his brilliance, experience and knowledge. They rightly surmised that he was piecing together several bits of information, adding this new information to the mix, going off tangent to touch on subjects relevant or otherwise and coming up with something new and important, while also drawing on his knowledge about the thing that used to be Tom Riddle.

"He cannot stop at four," Dumbledore said at last. "Arithmentically, it won't make any sense whatsoever." Nobody commented that making even one was senseless. "He would have gone for two, to make three parts. With three Horcruxes destroyed, we can rule that out. The next is seven."

"So you are saying there might be three more?" asked Charlus.

"Two more," Dumbledore corrected. "He actually **_cannot_** make six so fast, isn't it?" The question was directed to the Unspeakables, who nodded. "He will go insane." He then stopped to ponder and wonder, before realising, "He isn't sane!"

"So five it is," Frank summarised. They didn't need Voldemort to have any clemency on grounds of questionable sanity. "We need to look for two more. How though?"

"Ah, I may have a better source than you have had, now that we know what Tom has been collecting," Albus said with a smile. "Not many know that your House ghost, Alice, was the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw."

And that was one source they could have never even guessed at.

"That is most interesting, Headmaster, but I believe we all should get to the matter we have gathered for," Aberforth declared decisively, having hitherto been silent.

"Indeed," acknowledged Alastor.

Corvus took centre-stage. "You all know the original Prophecy, I hope." He received nods from them all. "This was a very vague Prophecy in several ways." He explained the more pertinent fallacies of applying the prophecy to the situation with Voldemort. "Should Riddle have found out about it, it is obvious that Riddle would have chosen to act – simply because that is exactly what megalomaniacs do. I can categorically say that the results would have been disastrous in at least ninety four percent of the situations we could construct based on current trends, the Houses we expected to survive, the political fallout of any action that that side might have taken and so on."

"Pretty slim and grim," Aberforth commented.

"Very," agreed Corvus. "Unfortunately, the probability of disaster was just as high if it had been dismissed out of hand."

"What?" his audience exclaimed as one.

"Indeed. The war has dragged on interminably, and it is costing us our economy, markets and most importantly people. We would give the government eighteen months, at most, before it would capitulate. Assuming a few heavy blows to either side, that number would deviate by three months."

The older people couldn't help but wince. They had survived Grindelwald – technically a far more successful Dark Lord in terms of scope, spectrum of attack and influence – only to stare into the eyes of almost certain defeat to this necromancer.

"However," continued Croaker seamlessly, "the recent actions have changed the situation drastically. With major human assets to his side being eliminated, and the destruction of three of his soul jars, the balance has swung almost squarely in our favour. As you may not know, the destruction has also diminished his magical power proportionately."

There was a sense of deep relief which Albus was very hard-pressed to share on one account. The human assets were still losses. Even though they could probably not be redeemed, they still were people. It chaffed a bit at his morals, but he chose to not express that, particularly when he saw Abe and Alastor congratulate the Potters and Longbottoms. His closest people were chinks in that armour for his arguments.

"By our calculations and projections, therefore, it would be best to hasten the defeat. It will be necessary to draw him out. Keeping that in mind, we have reconstructed the prophecy, rebalancing the vagueness with a little directness, discernible only to those who would study such magics." Croaker then looked to his superior to divulge the new prophecy.

"Please note the specific word changes." Corvus tapped a small device that was to be used to simulate Sybil Trelawney's voice.

" ** _THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO DESTROY THE DARK LORD APPROACHES... BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM...BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES...HE THAT ATTEMPTS TO FLEE FROM THE ORDAINED, ULTIMATE DEATH AND DESTRUCTION...SHALL CONFRONT THE ONE ON THE DAY HE FIRST AROSE...LIFE AND DEATH SHALL CYCLE BY FATE'S DESIGN...AND THAT STRIKE AGAINST THE ONE CHOSEN TO BE DEATH'S HAND SHALL DECIDE ALL...FOR EACH ALONE CAN DESTROY THE OTHER...AND NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER EXISTS...THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO DESTROY THE DARK LORD APPROACHES..."_**

"It is appropriately vague in all aspects barring the hint to make him think that it is him, and the day for him to attack, December 31st."

Frank and Lily had been independently noting and comparing the two prophecies.

"You have completely changed the very matter of the prophecy!" Frank noted.

Corvus, from under his hood, gave Frank a frank look of annoyance for stating the obvious. _Aurors_ he sneered mentally.

Lily on the other hand, gave a more in depth analysis. "It is much more than that. As such, it is as Corvus said – a very unsubtle shove for Riddle to move against us, but wrapped in only linguistic vagueness, which comes from the cycle of life and death thing. 'Power he knows not' is replaced by 'fate's design' and 'death's hand' – that will add to the intrigue for Riddle, though I doubt he fears any form of divinity or final punishment. So that will be something he'll summarily dismiss.

"The next lines give a tone of finality, again enticing him. He will be supremely confident that no one but him knows about the Horcruxes; even those allowed to handle it will be dead or so declared. It paints a target on Sirius' back however – he will want to know what Sirius knows before killing him for taking his monetary support away, so he will have to be protected.

"Anyway, back to the prophecy; he will be arrogant enough to think that since he actually _cannot_ die. We should be ready for different sorts of resurrection rituals, then, in my opinion. Were I him, I would most possibly ask my stupidest but most obedient servant – or servants – to follow a set of instructions to the letter to bring him back. Again, that would be a demonstration of his power and immortality."

It didn't normally happen that two sets of brothers would say exactly the same thing, particularly given that one set was almost perpetually at loggerheads privately, but it did. "Merlin's bloody balls!" swore Albus, Aberforth, Alastor and Oswald in unison. Lily had the uncanny ability to think and bind several facts and situations together.

From under his hood, Croaker considered the young muggleborn. Her husband was earmarked because of his similarly logical mind, a novelty for a magical, but more for his natural affinity for Defensive Transfiguration, Spell Modification and Wards. He was also a fairly powerful fighter. He, with the right training, would rise high within the Unspeakable ranks, either in the field or in research. This girl was wanted for her Charm-casting, and sheer brains – she was rumoured to be the brightest since Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Right now he had had more proof than he would have asked for, though he wouldn't mind a bit more from the husband. He wanted her, and if possible her husband as well, on his team as soon as they could be brought in. Then again she was to have a kid, so he couldn't employ her at that moment.

Croaker's wish for some proof of special ability from James was granted almost instantaneously.

James had a proud yet thoughtful mien as he heard his wife enthral people with her logic. There was something that was knocking at the periphery of his thoughts and he wanted to clarify something. With his best 'sheepish-layman-with-a-sort-of-good-idea' look, he addressed the Head of the DoM and asked, "Uh...Mr. Corvus, sir, I have a doubt, if I may ask." At the other man's nod, James continued, "These Horcrux thingies...are they used in the resurrection rituals?"

"Why do you ask, _young man_?" He had to be a bit condescending. It was necessary to hide his interest in Potter.

"Well, Lily told me about the muggles testing bombs and ammunition and performing controlled explosions of missiles, you know? If it is the case that the Horcrux, a token of the necromantic magic that **_HE_** has performed, has to be used – or to be perfectly clear, _used up_ \- won't he lead his followers who haven't been given the honour of holding such a thing with them to any other device he may still have? So like a controlled explosion, we could have a controlled resurrection. **_We_** won't have to find the devices left. He will do it for us."

 _Yes_ , Croaker decided. _I do want both on my team. This one can think out-of-the-box._

Lily, who was stood next to James, beamed at him.

The others could only look at them in astonishment. This was a very easy way out, if done properly. Corvus could already paint the situation in his mind's eye. All they would have to do was rig the target place enough to blow apart as soon as the Dark idiot entered. Special wards to trap souls were already known to them, ever since they had started experimenting with the Veil and the Dementors. Also there were those wards used to trap poltergeists in vicious hauntings. This really could work.

"It is something to think upon. It offers up some interesting possibilities," Corvus finally said, apparently noncommittally, but Alastor knew his brother enough to know that he was fairly excited about this idea. A spike ran through him. He bloody well wasn't going to lose Potter to Tinkler! He would have to take some deterrent action against his brother and his accursed department if they tried to step into his territory.

Augusta finally broke through these academic musings. _Bloody Unspeakables_ , she growled to herself, _always finding something academically interesting in even the most morbid things._ "At the moment, Mr. Corvus, we think it seems good," she said a bit decisively. "I hope that you hash it out well before you feed it to the captured Death Eater. Can we, for the here and now, turn to that source you were talking about, Albus?"

"Indeed, Augusta," Albus answered politely.

Helena drifted in through the walls as Dumbledore called her. "I heard you, Albus," she said in her cold distant voice. "You want to know the most well-known and documented Founders' effects, I gather."

"Yes, Milady," Albus replied politely.

"Salazar had a ring, Albus. I last saw it three years before you started Hogwarts, on the hand of one Caractacus Gaunt. There is of course Godric's Sword. And the Hat, of course, you know of."

"I have not been touched by that foul descendent of Salazar who's so hell-bent on destroying Salazar's true legacy!" The Hat indignantly screeched.

"Who is Salazar's descendent?" Even in curiosity, Helena's voice was detached and cold, as if she were nothing but an ethereal logbook of all that she knew and yearned to know.

"You know him, Helena," the Hat jeered. "Tom Riddle; he was your charming friend, wasn't he?"

Helena blanched – well, she turned opaquely silver anyway. "No... he... no!"

The audience frowned, but Alice most of all. Her Ravenclaw wit asserted itself as she was the quickest to connect the dots, as it were. "You told him about the Diadem, didn't you?"

Helena's silver face assumed a cruel scowl. "I should have thought that it was all a ruse for the Diadem!" she spat.

"And yet you chose to divulge it to Tom!" the Hat jeered. "You never really were worth the Diadem you so coveted!"

He (for the Hat did consider itself as a 'he') had a grudge against the snot-nosed girl ever since she suggested the secrecy enchantment on him as a form of revenge for not telling her how the sentience in him came to be, when Godric had not created it that way. By his count, he could have given an indication about the several instances when worrying trends and darker tendencies were prevalent in young minds. Her suggestion was not well-formed, and had thus become a blanket enchantment that disallowed the Hat from speaking out anything about the student unless the matter was known to everyone around him, much to the chagrin of the sentience that gave him thought and a mind.

"You accuse us of greed, yet you gave a murderer its whereabouts!" Alice speared the ghost with her words.

It was not intentional, but the young Lady Longbottom and the Sorting Hat tag-teamed Helena Ravenclaw.

"Murderer?" asked Helena weakly. She sought to hold onto her greatest secret jealously, nevertheless.

"Yes. That is what your charming fiend of a friend is, Helena, A MURDERER!"

"You always were a foolish girl, Helena. Broke your mother's heart, you did. Killed her, your actions did," The Hat accused. "Maybe that's why you were drawn to a killer like Tom Riddle?"

"And yet you delay us," Alice viciously hissed. "You hold on to your secrets while people are killed!"

"He only found out new knowledge, girl! It doesn't matter to me what he did! He pursued knowledge, and it doesn't matter to me what kind of knowledge it was!"Helena retorted angrily, her silver cheeks now splotched with opaque patches. "I don't have to be insulted by the likes of you!"

"And that's exactly why you weren't worthy of the Diadem. You treasure knowledge, but not the wit and wisdom that your mother supplemented it with. You are a shame to her legacy!" The Hat was really enjoying sticking it to her.

Dumbledore had not stepped in while the Hat and Alice raked Helena over the coals and roasted her. He wasn't very happy about using his powers as the Headmaster in this situation, because it seemed for a while that Helena would not only see reason, but would also reveal more upon knowing Tom's true colours. Her obstinate defiance riled him, however.

In a slow, deliberate, controlled manner, which still reeked of power and menace, Albus thundered, "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school, order you, Helena Ravenclaw, to reveal all that you know about Tom Riddle and all that you told him."

And so Helena had to tell him **_everything_** regarding that matter. It was particularly interesting to note that Helena was enchanted by Tom's sweet-talking because he had found her weak point, her greed for knowledge. Not enthusiasm or obsession; greed. Had Helena all the knowledge in the world, she would hoard it and keep the rest illiterate if she had the chance. It was why she coveted the Diadem, as a means to ensnare all the knowledge for herself. It contained all the knowledge that Rowena had. It was like her personal pensieve, a means to access knowledge which was a load even on that witch's eidetic memory. Helena, in fact, had the makings of a Dark Lady.

By this time, Nearly Headless Nick, The Fat Friar and The Bloody Baron had appeared in the Headmaster's office as well. "Headmaster, if we may," The Baron asked permission to speak, his scowl still firmly in place.

"Indeed," Dumbledore answered.

"We have known for some time that Tom Riddle was not the good sort, but we have not had proof. Do you remember the time he asked you for a job?"

"Yes Milord. It was in 1957."

"Quite right," The Baron acknowledged. "Since then, the idiot last spawn of my brother's line has not returned to this Castle."

"Your brother?" asked James in surprise.

"Yes boy. In life I was Baron Sol Slytherin, a title accorded by the then muggle rulers. Salazar was my father. Sir Nicholas here is, or rather, was, the last of the line of Gryffindor. The Fat Friar, as you know him, and is widely mistaken by many muggleborns as the one from some stories about a thief, was the older of the two children that last bore the Hufflepuff name. Helena you know about. We became the House ghosts because we were the ghosts of people born in those lines!"

"Oh," everyone said in unison.

"I digress. That day, The Friar and I were patrolling the corridors. This evil child that has ruined our name stopped twice on his way to and from your office."

"He did? Where did he stop?"

"Yes. There is a room on the seventh floor near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He stopped there and disappeared within its bowels. Even we couldn't enter it while he occupied it," answered the Friar. "He paced up and down that wall three times, as we know, to access the room. Legend has it that that was where Salazar and Godric would hide things they were tinkering from their wives and friends. Godric, it turns out was a broom-racing junkie and had coaxed Salazar to help him refine the design."

"And that is where the problem arises, Albus," Nick continued. "That Room has no limits to the versions of it. I believe it can provide an answer, solution or help for anything within reason. Should this Riddle boy have wanted a very unremarkable place to hide something, where it could be easily ignored, it would have given him that."

Albus actually groaned with the others as the implications of that hit home. "But there are so many possibilities!"

Sir Nicholas and The Friar gave him crooked smiles as the Baron said, "That is where you and we," here he gestured at all four ghosts – though Helena looked like she wanted to do anything but what she was going to be volunteered for and to be anywhere but where she was, "come into the picture. We are the imprints of the blood descendents of the Founders, still tied to the school. A part of the magic that keeps us in this state is the same as that of our erstwhile living bodies. Should you open yourself to all the wards of Hogwarts and we connect to them as well, Hogwarts will...possess...you, for lack of a better word, and use your body and magic to cause the expulsion all the dark objects stored within her."

There was no reason to dilly-dally over the matter. "Lily, Alice, understand that I only ask this of you because of your condition. Please return."

"But what about feeding the new prophecy into Snape's memory?" Alice protested. "And surely you can trust us to help?"

"I believe that we can postpone the updating of that Death Eater's memory with the new Prophecy till later. As Madam Longbottom said, we have to still perfect it, though we are very close," Corvus declared. This was something he had never known before about Hogwarts, and with the possibility of a magical sentience, and of a Horcrux being destroyed, he wasn't going to let it go. "This, right now, is a more important situation."

"I haven't done this before, Alice," Albus temporised, "and I am very sure nor have any of my predecessors for many centuries, for otherwise it would have been passed on to each successive Headmaster along with all the other rites. So we don't know what will happen. Understand that this is no slight to your loyalty or ability, but rather an old man's attempt at precaution."

Dorea, Augusta and Charlus gave Albus approving looks, which their respective daughters-in-law caught and therefore the Headmaster's words were accepted. Lily had a little something to keep Albus on his toes, however.

"In that case Headmaster, could I see Severus and have the required five small vials of blood?"

Dumbledore fought hard to keep the grimace off his face; he really did. But it still showed as a small frown. He hadn't thought of that, and now wished that he had. It was what he had been thinking about before his visitors came in. However, since that was on the agenda anyway, he had no choice but to acquiesce.

Once they had the blood, Lily and Alice both left via the floo. It was a matter of curiosity for Albus, for Lily left with the line, "Hickory Dickory Dock!" while Alice followed up with, "A Mouse ran up the clock!" The venerable old Headmaster could only look in bewilderment at the two ladies' families. It was Charlus who answered.

"Everyone has something that is questionable to the minds of everyone else. James has a questionable sense of humour. You have a questionable sense of fashion," Charlus explained grimly. Dumbledore frowned. He liked his orange robes! "My daughter-in-law has a questionable way of setting password codes for individuals, charmed to recognise their voices. It is a recent improvement to the floo." He then followed his wife and Augusta through the floo. They were tasked with coordination and protection of the Potter and Longbottom children-to-be.

Corvus smiled as Croaker whispered, "I can see why you want them both." Of course nobody else heard that whisper nor saw their smiles.

Albus soon invoked the spirit of Hogwarts – a vague term for the sentience that had become associated with the wards – along with the four House ghosts. For the next hour and half, the five visitors, two Unspeakables, one Headmaster and four ghosts roamed around the castle as Hogwarts herself guided them through Dumbledore, leading them to all sorts of Dark Objects hidden within the castle. The castle guided them to a girls' bathroom haunted by a ghost as well, but Dumbledore could not actually speak and the rest were unable to understand or detect anything. So after five minutes of bewilderment there, it was abandoned.

Sure enough they found a lot. Tom **_had_** made a Horcrux out of the Diadem. He had also placed the curse of the DADA position on an object that actually was his – the shield he had been awarded for framing Hagrid. There were several more of assorted types. Clearly, summer jobs at Borgins and Burke's were also summer sales. A Vanishing cabinet which Croaker travelled through to the very shop was also destroyed, as was its mate.

A tired, but very pleased Headmaster sat down with a snifter of firewhiskey in his hand. "Today was fruitful."

"Indeed," Corvus replied. By all means, Voldemort was a person considered to be half-dead.

Any further discussion on the matter was cut short when Padfoot the Patronus gambolled in. Sirius' voice was frantic. "Help us! Come to two miles east of Gillespie Road Station. They have got two giants!"

James and Frank, Alastor and Abe looked at Dumbledore, who was spent and now worried. The Headmaster was spent, and in spite of his prodigious power, was at the moment going to be useless in a fight. Yet he alone had the experience to actually take down giants and was at the moment present.

"You go on and help them control," Dumbledore ordered. "I will go and get a booster from Poppy." Frank, James, Alastor and Abe left at once. The former two mightn't have been Order operatives any longer, but no one ever withheld help.

Albus on his part attempted to stand, but collapsed. This was going to be difficult.

* * *

The four men appeared about a few hundred metres from the battle. Sure enough, two giants and three trolls were causing as much havoc as they could – and they could do that, a lot. They broke into a run. Apparating any closer to a battle was actually inviting death. Spells kept flying around randomly and there was always the risk of apparating into the path of one.

Sure enough, the Blasters Borough community, a group of wizards who had tried to remain neutral, but had helped people affected by the war a lot, were under attack. This was a safe haven for victims and injured people, and it was an unwritten rule of combat that such places were never to be attacked.

They could see Sirius and Moony fighting with Fabricglass and von Press, formerly of the community, and now Death Eaters. Voldemort had seduced them with the promise of money and fame. With the new blandness that accompanied the need to put them out of commission, four piercing hexes flew to their heads and three connected. They were soon retired from any sort of deployment and sent on to the afterlife. The problem was the fact that a new imbecile that they hadn't encountered before was managing the Giants and Trolls. Fabricglass and von Press were older, more experienced fighters. The ones they were leading seemed to be schoolboys.

These were not to be underestimated and killed. They were to be stunned and sent to the Ministry holding cells. Unfortunately, these recruits were also often rash and far too good at sending overpowered hexes and missing the target or causing far more harm in a rush of adrenaline. And that was exactly what happened when one of them landed a bludgeoning hex into Alastor's face, tearing away his nose and right part of the jaw and putting him out of commission.

"Oh God," James moaned. It was a truly horrendous sight, and James was also splattered with his mentor's blood. Luckily Frank still had hold of his senses and he activated the portkey which took Alastor to the Hogwarts infirmary. Dumbledore insisted that every Order member have it on them.

"Good grief!" he muttered as he banished the punk that hexed Mad-Eye into the nearest building. The kid obediently crashed into the wall and crumpled down without consciousness. "By the end of this war, Mad-Eye is going to have a new face fixed!"

By this time, a newly cleaned up James had regained his senses as well. It wasn't worse than when Moony was angry and slashed Padfoot very hard. The dog had yowled for months after that. "I will bet you five galleons," he rejoined as he now randomly cast animate to inanimate transfiguration spells. Chairs and stones couldn't fight back. The Boroughs had taken a nasty hit, what with Flappesthwaite, Vermington and Sailor having lost their lives, and Ponsonby and Flame gravely injured. The new additions had helped, but for some it was a case of a little too late.

It was into this that the newest in the cadre of Marauders brought out a completely unbelievable solution. Fabian had transfigured a tree into a gigantic catapult. Gideon was using this to aim several large jelly-like pellets into the mouths of the trolls and giants. He was actually hitting them with large boulders (real ones, not the ones that James had transfigured from the rookie Death Eaters) to get their attention, and as soon as they turned around and roared, he was putting in the jelly globs.

"Why are you feeding the trolls?" Moony asked in utter incomprehension.

"And the giants," Sirius added.

"Just wait and watch," Marlene added as she arrived with a large consignment of the jelly.

Sure enough, when the three had fed one of the behemoths enough of whatever the jelly was, there seemed to be the effect that they wanted. They began to shrink. And they began to de-age.

"It works!" The twins and Marlene were exultant. Within the next five minutes, Shockross had toppled off Burgtrok's shoulder. Sirius and Remus caught him in mid-fall and stunned him. He had to be interrogated. This one had apprenticed under McNair. Soon enough, the five humanoid beings had transformed into babies – very ugly babies at that.

"What was it?"

"Well, you see," started Fabian

"The Giants and trolls," continued Gideon.

"They don't get affected by spells..."

"...or hexes..."

"...or any wand magic..."

"So Marlene suggested..."

"...that we put magic inside them..."

"...so we made shrinking solution jellies..."

"...which they ingested and..."

"...have become babies..."

"That is bloody brilliant!" Sirius agreed, awestruck. He then kissed his fiancée. Unfortunately, it was at this time that there was a horrible smell and one of the giants started howling and crying.

"What a mood killer!" both grumbled once they had finished retching.

"What the fuck is that?" Frank asked as he approached the still standing humans. He was inside a bubble-head charm. Everyone else quickly copied that.

James, too, appeared beside Sirius, his breath protected by the charm as well. "That is one dirty giant baby."

"No Prongs; that is one dirty **_baby giant_**!"

James looked at the group, stunned. Nodding, Fabian agreed, "There are three trolls-babies and one more of the giants as well."

Everyone else looked just about ready to cry. This was going to be messy.

"There were Giants, weren't there?" Albus Dumbledore had recovered as soon as he could and had rushed to help. He was instantly assaulted by the horrible, rotting smell.

"Yes. 'Were' is the operative term. Now you can help with the clean-up!" Abe grunted. Albus, whose eyes were watering as he tried to waft the smell away while simultaneously casting the bubble-head charm, now joined the others as they near-about wailed at that prospect.

* * *

 **Thank you to all readers, reviewers, followers and favouriteers. Damn, that should be a word.**


	7. Chapter 8

**The Controlled Leak and the Penultimate Strike**

A/N: As it stands, Voldemort has to depart before the children are born, as decided by the readers. Thanks to 'ObsessedWithHPFanFic', 'MarilynT', **'Phillies2', 'billi24', 'Navn Ukjent', 'rbear1231' (voters)** , 'Firewolfe', 'Beyondthesea16', 'MattKennedy', 'davycrockett100', 'Kairan1979', 'IWantColouredRain', 'Fallow53' and 'Guest' (guest reviewers) and as always, 'alix33' for reviewing, and to all those who have added to story to the follows or favourites lists.

This story is classified as **Drama** /Humour. All Horcruxes destroyed are destroyed 'behind the scenes'.

 ** _A very amusing thing to note is the fact that Dumbledore knew about Horcruxes, or at least that Riddle had been a murderer since 1943, at the very latest. Morfin Gaunt died around or in 1943 (http : / / harry potter dot wikia dot com / wiki / Morfin_Gaunt), and Dumbledore had his memories, and dead men tell no tales. So what did Dumbledore do for fifty three years with the knowledge? The same is true for Hokey the House-elf, Bob Ogden, Dumbledore's own memory from the 1950's... The whole memory-showing business became, in and of itself, a plot-hole. Ergo, book 6 and therefore book 7, are both plot-holes. Obviously, repair is necessary._**

Credits: Dumbledore/Elder Wand plot device courtesy ' **Time is the Fire** ' by **Oddment Tweak**. It's an excellent story for those who favour (canon- Heron– Hinny + Harmony).

* * *

Four days; it was just a matter of four days during which the face of the war had changed. Where once the signs in magical Britain were showing that a majority of the peace-loving population was primed for an exodus, those in the know now knew that everything was rapidly changing for the better. While the absence of several of the more dangerous raiders in Voldemort's ranks was not remarked upon because they were known to have long periods of absence between raids, the fight against the trolls and the giants and their controllers had boosted the morale across the country. What else could it have done? It wasn't everyday that the behemoths turned into bawling child behemoths. So when it was captured in cameras and the pictures were published, the sheer absurdity of the situation raised morale and also garnered quite a few laughs. People saw it as a light in the overwhelming darkness. And unlike it being the train at the end of the tunnel, this light would actually be brighter the better one inspected things.

Of course, it wasn't universally approved.

Bulltong, the leader of the herd of trolls was extremely angry that his mate and his son had both been turned into babies. Rearing one with the mate's, Drubkag's, help had been a bad enough experience. Adolescents were a problem no matter the species, and he and the herd would have two additional ones within a few short years. Raising both back again was going to be more trouble that he had bargained for. So of course, he had bashed up a few Death Eaters and left with his herd, without even a grunt of goodbye. He could have waited for Voldemort to simply counter the potion, but he was impatient, angry and foolish. Of course he was. He _was_ a troll.

Voldemort was unhappier still, because he had lost all the giants from the new tribe he was courting. That meant that the new tribe was more likely to eat his messengers instead of listening to them. Worse still, several of the existing members of the Giants Corps were having second thoughts about joining Voldemort. This was only compounded by the fact that he had lost the entire herd of trolls.

In addition to this his best lieutenants too had been killed, he now knew. There was no way that Bella would _not_ respond to his call. When nearly fifteen or so more didn't, he realised that they too had been taken out. Money and murderous intent was what they provided. It was all lost. He was therefore forced to beat a tactical retreat for what amounted to over a week since the attack on the Blasting Boroughs.

* * *

The matter with the giants though hadn't made anyone as happy as Hagrid. He was overjoyed. Dumbledore had given a werewolf a chance to learn at Hogwarts. Giants were not capable of casting wand magic – or any magic at all for that matter – but they had a person in place to take them closer being able to mix with another civilisation that co-inhabited the earth with.

Hagrid the half-giant was currently channelling his inner Molly Weasley with the two 'cute' babies, almost at the expense of his friendship with Aragog, who was opposed to this rearing of 'monsters'.

There had never been a greater case of the pot calling the kettle black.

"You can't have them here, Hagrid!" the gigantic arthropod protested with furiously clicking pincers. "This forest is not big enough for all the creatures and those monsters!"

"Don' yeh go an' call 'em monsters, Aragog!" scolded Hagrid. He never advertised his ancestry, but he wasn't going to take anybody calling the giants monsters.

"They are monsters, Hagrid! They are like food but too big. We will be food for them instead!"

"Humans aren' food, yeh great insect!" growled Hagrid. "And they'll not eat yeh!"

Aragog gave the arthropod equivalent of a huff. "You say that now. When those little beasts come around, you'll forget about the rest of us."

Hagrid had been wearing an apron as he was cooking his dinner when Dumbledore had come over to ask him if he could take over the guardianship of the two giants temporarily (this particular pink apron was closer to the size of a sail). When Aragog registered his last complaint, a very maternal look came over Hagrid's face and his anger melted away. In a manner totally reminiscent of Molly Weasley, whom he was channelling, Hagrid decided to tend to his 'child'. She would have empathised.

"Yeh don' havta worry, Aragog!" he consoled the Acromantula King. "Yeh were like a son ter me, more tha' a pet! All yer children are like me gran'chil'ren, yeh know?" He took to petting the Acromantula that was throwing a tantrum. "Those new sprogs will be jus' like yer brothers! And aren' they so cute?"

There was no way to know whether Aragog accepted that, but Hagrid became the proud Daddy of two Giant babies by that very night. He was promised help by the castle's elves and the professors in his house expansion plans. Aragog would just have to grin and indulge in sibling rivalry.

* * *

It was finally the day, the second of December, when the plan was to be set into action. Corvus and Croaker had employed every magical method known to them – and they knew far too many – to ensure that they were dealing with Severus Snape, to start with. With the level of manipulation attempted on Lily, they could never be too sure.

Well, that was only for show. Everyone was entitled to taking the mickey every once in a while, and Dumbledore was becoming the unwitting victim. He, in fact, had come around to ensuring that everyone ended up punished having experienced the longest peaceful period since Voldemort's rise. He just favoured Azkaban.

The truth lay in the doctrine of constant vigilance. There were several methods of impersonation, and some were very difficult to detect. Their plan would be for nought if they didn't take due precautions.

Capturing Peter Pettigrew had been a piece of cake. Just a message that there would be a very important Order meeting that could probably take a day or two meant that the rat scurried out of whatever burrow he was hiding in. With Snape already in their captivity, the personnel within Voldemort's ranks were now in hand. If Peter returned a bit early, and Voldemort didn't like that and ended up torturing the traitor...well, nobody would waste their sympathies.

Just creating a memory of the meeting, where they would only talk about absolutely nothing was alright in Pettigrew's case. But it still took a long time, because they had to create a viable set of situations, complete with visual cues, an acceptable substitute for the voices of the people who were 'present' and so on.

Snape was a much more difficult task. What could a person do for four days? A person interacted with several people. A Death Eater interacted with other members of the unit he belonged to. There were thoughts about the food a person had consumed; thoughts about the past, whatever was going on...

The solution, however, was simple. It was so absurdly simple that it was ignored and dismissed initially as too obvious. Snape was a Potioneer. Some potions took days on end to brew. A simple claim of restocking the potion stock for the Death Eaters, or any experiments involved in creating a new potion (Snape was a creator as well) with forged observations and that would be all. In the end they only needed some Polyjuice Potion to enact those memories, and a few more situations to tie around the eavesdropping business.

All in all, the matter was tied up quite neatly. Now there was just the matter of the matters getting Voldemort's attention.

* * *

"Milord..."

Just one word it was, but it was enough for the Dark Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, to know that his most dour new recruit, the talented young Potioneer, Severus Snape, had some special information. There were very few among his minions that Voldemort bothered to truly acknowledge. Severus Snape, for better or for worse, was one of them, primarily because of his talent and also, because of the man's blood status. In the rarest of his pensive moments, the Dark Lord felt a certain kinship with the other brilliant halfblood with the muggle father to emerge from Slytherin. It was also why Severus was a threat to him, by his warped logic.

"Come, Severus..." the fiend hissed, holding out his hand. Severus Snape kissed the hand, and then the hem of Voldemort's robes, before kneeling with his head bowed.

"Speak, my slippery friend," Voldemort commanded, as he stroked his familiar's head.

"Milord, I was in the Hog's Head, just an hour ago, to shadow any movements by Dumbledore in Hogsmeade, as you had commanded."

"And...?"

"Milord, Dumbledore was there this evening. He was interviewing a new professor."

Voldemort pinned his servant with a coppery gaze – how was he supposed to pin anyone with a _steely_ gaze when he had _red_ eyes? He angrily hissed, "Really Severus; when I asked you to shadow his movements, I didn't think you would give me such pitiful reports, unless it was for the DADA post..."

Seeing the wand being brought to bear, Severus hastened to answer. "Milord, it was for the post of the Divination Teacher." Seeing that it only served to further enrage Voldemort, he hurried on. "There was a prophecy, milord."

The wand stilled and then swiftly travelled back up Voldemort's sleeve. "A prophecy, was there? That is interesting." With nary but a thought, he brutally ransacked Snape's mind. The hiding place as a cloaked hobbling person, the Polyjuice transformation into a nondescript muggle when he was almost caught, the fact that Dumbledore had heard the prophecy and looked grim at the prospect, and the prophecy itself; everything was visible to Voldemort. It was essentially the same as the one originally constructed by the Unspeakables, with the words shuffled around only slightly for better effect.

"Interesting," muttered Riddle as he stroked a non-existent beard. "That is very interesting..."

Snape relaxed just that teensy bit. It was a tad too soon.

"Say, Severus," Voldemort started, as the wand came back into his hand and he rolled it between his fingers, "what do you think of this?"

"I cannot say, milord. I cannot profess to have any knowledge of the workings of prophecies."

"Yet you report to me about it..."

"Milord commanded me to report anything out of the ordinary!"

"Such insolence," Riddle hissed with an irritated cluck of his tongue. A mere second later, Snape was writhing under the effects of the Cruciatus. "Watch your tone, hereafter, Severus."

"I b-beg your-r merrrcy and pardon, Milord," Severus slurred as he fought to regain the control of his tongue.

"You have it, Severus. Otherwise you would have been dead," Riddle dismissively replied. "So, tell me, why did you think of this as important?"

Severus furrowed his brows as he thought of an appropriate answer. "Answer me, Severus," Voldemort ordered.

"Milord, Dumbledore was the recipient of the prophecy. I – I made the connection to you, immediately, and so can he." Voldemort's eyes flashed, and Severus hastened to explain, "I know some rudimentary French, milord."

A threat was what Severus was, the Dark Lord decided. Yet his hand stayed. The man kneeling before him was also clever, and only a fool killed the counsellor without hearing his words.

"So you believe that Dumbledore will bank on this?"

"In all honesty, milord, I think Dumbledore has had enough. He could just as well call you out for a duel and go down in a blaze of glory," Severus answered with some blatant flattery, "or he will, in an act of desperation, toss this prophesised saviour at you. Either way, everyone who knows Dumbledore knows that he will try to work up a scheme around this."

That was true. What was also true was the fact that Dumbledore would sacrifice someone from his Order, a bunch of delusional fools. Pettigrew would be necessary for this. He needed to know who would soon become parents, or indeed who were to be the parents of this prophesised saviour. And he knew of two couples who had thrice defied him. He still hoped to bring them over – they would be wonderful additions to his ranks, in spite of Lily Potter being a mudblood. But if they were to become parents, well, their deaths would be, as Dumbledore liked to say, for the Greater Good.

As for Severus... well, there was nothing to be gained from keeping the man alive. He had gone perilously close to his secret. Not even those whom he had accorded the honour of keeping his anchors knew their true value. Severus, though, was too clever for his own good. He would have to die. Well, there was a way to kill two birds with one stone. Potter and his gang had an old enmity. Severus could be tasked with eliminating them. If Severus lived, he would kill him. If they lived, well, that would be an excellent test for their induction, if they could defeat wizard handpicked and trained by Lord Voldemort himself.

The man, who was sixty six percent dead, had fallen into the trap, hook, line and sinker.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was seated in his office, fiddling idly with the Hazel and Unicorn Hair wand that he had bought all those years ago from Ollivander's and the memories in his pensieve, thinking about where life was heading. At the age of eighty seven, he was not young by magical standards, but he wasn't old either. So what he was feeling could be likened to midlife crisis.

It had been just one situation. Just one situation where he didn't take enough precautions, behaved cavalierly, and nearly let the enemy know very, _very_ sensitive information. Then he had to go and put his foot right into it by suggesting that the information be leaked. Thankfully, Abe and Alastor had been there at hand to set him to rights. What had transpired had set into motion events of such magnitude and in such a sequence, that he was no longer in control of things.

And after decades of being in control, Albus chafed at the restrictions put on him indirectly. First he had lost the Elder Wand at the hands of the last living descendents of its first owner. He had been told about Horcruxes only after three of five had been destroyed, and he could only help destroy one. A man he intended to use as a spy was now being used by other people on his side – the very people who had taken away his control. The several eliminated Death Eaters had led to a far more peaceful situation as had been absent since Tom arrived on the scene.

In all this, his opinion was neither considered nor asked for. In fact, at the very start, every aspect of his initial plan had been taken apart, roundly criticised and then consigned to the fireplace. If on one hand all that the people now in control had done was ineffective, he could have asserted his position. But now he was unable to do so. This caused him much internal strife.

And it also made him feel ashamed of himself.

This was war. It had no place for the beliefs of one person. For as long as he had fought against the darkness, starting with Gellert, he had believed that it was always important to look at the bigger picture. It always came before the individual. Why then, had he been exempting himself from the same? Was it not hypocrisy at its best?

Albus Dumbledore was vain, almost narcissistic. He was proud of his achievements off the battlefield, and rightly so. And in a sterling example of the dichotomy of human nature, he was also not so proud as to not accept being bested by someone else (if done really well enough to satisfy his ego and be bested only by a really good ploy), nor reject a flaw in his own character after it was forcibly shoved into his face.

He had learnt that he was not to be trusted with power. He could be trusted with guidance, yes; with power, no. And it was at this juncture that he realised that he had straddled the circles of politics and education for years, and practically failed dismally in both. Neither had he been able to leave a lasting mark on politics and change the laws which had long seen as oppressive, nor had he been able to influence the children under his care enough for them to spurn the dark, the bigotry, the hatred. He had failed as both a teacher and a politician.

If that wasn't enough, he had taken on the mantle of the war general as well, instead of once again realising that he was not cut out for that when he was unable to save people from untimely ends as they sought to execute his plans. Instead he had enforced his beliefs, which were worthless, as he now found, against the monsters they were fighting. He wasn't as stupid as to take the complete blame for their deaths – much of it rested with Voldemort. But he shared a part of it as well.

And now, once again, he was failing his people. Thirty eight years ago, he had come across a truly charming individual called Morfin Gaunt (yes, Albus Dumbledore was capable of sarcasm) during a visit to Azkaban, shortly before he had started the Order of the Phoenix with a view to building forces against Gellert Grindelwald. He had been interested to note that this man was Tom Riddle's uncle – a very preliminary glance into his feeble mind had told him that. The name, Tom Riddle had cropped up, and it had surprised him. However, he had left that for the time being.

The following year, the school had seen attacks on muggleborn students which had initially taken his attention away from the matter. But later on, he had found a suspect in Tom Riddle, _Junior_. He suspected the boy, whom he now knew to be _an_ Heir of Slytherin to have murdered Myrtle Warren. He had unfortunately had no proof at that time, and then he had been engrossed in the oncoming fight against Gellert and in protecting British shores from his army. The matter had been delegated for later as it was important but not urgent.

Still, when he had heard that Morfin, who had been returned to Azkaban that very year just after the school year ended, was in poor health, he had rushed back and taken every memory of the man. The none-too-subtle signs of memory modification piqued his interest. What he had found shocked him. Tom Riddle had murdered his own father and grandparents. He had appealed on Morfin's behalf, but the bureaucracy blocked him just until after Morfin's death.

That incident spurred Dumbledore to collect as much information about Riddle as he could. It was a quest that he dutifully adhered to till 1957, when Riddle had last met him. Dumbledore's prodigious mind was at an impasse. What made him sit on the information for three decades at the very least?

With a firm breath to collect his meandering mind, he dived headfirst into the pensieve, with the unspoken vow to never fail his people again occupying his thoughts.

Half an hour later, he emerged from the pensive, flushed with exultation and self-deprecation all over again. It was the ring. It was all about the Merlin damned ring. Albus Dumbledore's last foray to collect a memory about Tom Riddle had been with a visit to Bob Ogden. He had long ago taken one wrong decision – to do what was easy instead of doing what was right. He had chosen to succumb to his fear and also the joy he would feel upon seeing Arianna for whatever fleeting span of time she could bear it. He had been unable to face the prospect of knowing who killed her and the hope that it wasn't him. If he had taken steps then...

"Bee in your bonnet, Headmaster?" asked the Sorting Hat, a frequent conversation companion.

"Old memories and temptations, my friend," Dumbledore answered, as he stroked the crimson and gold plumage of Fawkes the phoenix, who was crooning a soothing song.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Not at the moment, no," Dumbledore refused. "This is what we needed."

"A hint at least?" the Hat _whined_.

"It is my mistake born from my first brush with power that I have always been unfit to wield."

"This must be good."

"That is a matter of perspective, Hat. At the moment, though, I must attend to business." Dumbledore looked at Fawkes as he handed a short note for the bird to deliver to the Coven – not that he thought or knew of them as such. He was going to step away voluntarily from the wish to do everything by himself, and ask for help. He had not proven to be worthy of the power nor had he any proof of the ability to stave off the temptation.

* * *

A burst of fire startled the residents of the Potter Manor, where Charlus, Dorea, Lily and James currently were, as were Sirius Black and 'Eric Potter'.

"Isn't that Fawkes?" Sirius asked.

"That's him alright," his cousin agreed. "He has a note as well."

"What does it say?"

James frowned at the note as if it could explain and elaborate upon the short missive it carried if he frowned enough. "He wants Dad, you and me at Hogwarts. Apparently he has a 'matter of great import' to discuss."

"He isn't going back on the plan now, is he?" Lily asked with just a hint of her famous temper.

"The letter didn't say Lils," James replied honestly. James could sometimes be a mature man, but 'sometimes' really meant just that. He mouthed off to his pregnant, hormonal wife. "Perhaps you could try asking? It might get scared of your temper and blurt out..."

"What are you saying?" the redhead hissed. "Do you think I have a temper?"

"For a married man, James sure doesn't seem to have enough wisdom dealing with a fiery and pregnant woman," 'Eric' muttered. "Even I know, and I have had only one girlfriend, and well..."

"Reggie, please shut up. It's more fun to watch James being trampled under Hurricane Lily."

"Are you two done?" asked a sickly sweet voice near them. When had Lily moved so close, enough to jab her wand into their eyes?

Fortunately, Fawkes crooned and calmed tempers.

"Can you take us to Dumbledore's office, birdie?" Charlus asked the phoenix innocently. As he did so, he gave the bird (which was now purring like a cat) rubs and pats on its breast feathers, and looked at it with wide-eyed awe. Fawkes stopped to give off what seemed like an amused snort.

Immaturity surely ran in the family, if a man well past fifty thought it was funny to act like a kid aged four and his twenty year old son never seemed to grow out of that stage. Then again, it drew away fire from James and the two Black boys.

* * *

It took the three just a few more minutes before they latched onto the bird and took off for Hogwarts. Evidently Dumbledore was expecting them to answer by letter and come later on, for he was surprised to see them. "Thank you for arriving at such short notice."

"It's of no consequence sir. Any help that anyone can provide to the goal of obliterating Voldemort has to be immediately accepted," Sirius replied in a businesslike manner.

Dumbledore allowed himself a smile at the choice of words. He would have gone for 'ending the threat that Voldemort posed', but 'obliteration' worked better than any other in the situation they found themselves in. "Indeed," he replied pleasantly. "Let's get straight to business then."

"Let's," agreed the three in unison.

Dumbledore nodded absently, before giving a short prologue to the real matter at hand. "Charlus, please understand, that what I am going to show you was in my possession since the 1950's at the very latest. However, it was something I had hidden but not out of malicious intent. In fact, I had hidden the matter from myself as well."

"We would never believe you to have bad intentions, Albus. We may not agree on several things, but mal-intent is not something we would accuse you of," Charlus replied quickly and decisively. "At least we wouldn't believe you wanting to hurt someone purposefully, or with the intention to hurt them." In another time, under circumstances where they hadn't taken the steps they did, he would have murdered Albus Dumbledore for putting his unborn grandchild through hell, damn the intentions. But that was neither here nor there.

"Thank you. I believe I had bespelled myself to ignore what I am going to show you. You have followed your ancestry, haven't you?"

If The Potter was thrown off-track by this non-sequitur, he didn't show it. "Yes. I know of our Peverell ancestry." It had come up before.

"So you know of the other two items that formed the triad with the wand I used to have. One is in your family's possession."

"Yes."

James and Sirius were looking in much bewilderment at the two men, unable to understand what they were getting to.

"The third item of the triad is what I want to tell you about. It is his last anchor, I am sure of it."

Charlus sat up straighter now. He knew what Dumbledore was talking about. Voldemort had made the Resurrection Stone into a Horcrux. How would it affect things? More importantly, he read more into Dumbledore's actions. There was only one obvious reason why Dumbledore would want to forget about the Resurrection Stone. Everyone had regrets and he wasn't about to ask Dumbledore such a personal question.

Dumbledore seemed to understand what was going on Charlus' mind. "You are right."

"I suppose you must think of us as children and will probably scold us for interrupting when elders are discussing matters," interrupted James politely, "but...um... COULD SOMEONE BLOODY TELL US WHAT IS GOING ON? THIS THING CAN HELP US DESTROY THAT THING WHICH IS THREATENING THE EXISTENCE OF MY CHILD!"

Charlus threw his son a filthy look. "Sensitivity, James, is a quality that can be cultivated, or at least displayed even in its absence if one learns to shut up every once in a while."

"Well, congratulations Dad for being the epitome of sensitivity. But I will reserve my sensitivity till after Voldemort's obliteration, when he can no longer hurt my child."

Dumbledore was affronted by this behaviour, but at the same time couldn't fault the younger man. It wouldn't do to wallow in regret and delay the job they had to do and at the same time be offended by the impatience of a man who would be a father and wished to protect his child as best as he could. "I understand, James," he said softly, raising a hand to calm Charlus, who intended to chastise his son.

So without much further ado, he showed them two memories. One was of Bob Ogden, a Ministry employee from the 1920s, and his attempts to arrest Morfin Gaunt.

"Do you see that ring? That is the Horcrux that still exists. I am quite sure of it."

"What is all this? Who are they?" asked James.

"These are – were – your last relatives through the Peverells. They are also Voldemort's maternal family," explained Dumbledore. He ignored the inarticulate cry of disgust from his ex-student as he addressed Charlus again. "You recognise what sits on the ring?"

"Yes. Will the nature of its innate magic affect the magic now tied to it?"

Dumbledore's eyes dimmed alarmingly as he realised what Charlus was implying. That could be a massive problem. Would the ring trigger the Horcrux, or would using the Stone do so? Would Tom return if he was called back through the stone? Would using the stone to talk to any other person – to recall his little sister – have the effect of creating another Voldemort?

"It has to be destroyed as well," he concluded. "I do not see what could destroy a stone, however."

"You do know that lava is molten stone as well, don't you?" asked Sirius. He had been fairly quiet throughout. "If we destroy it using Fiendfyre, all the magic in it will be destroyed."

There was so much that he wanted to say in protest, so much to say that he wouldn't, that he couldn't let that happen. But what moral grounds did he have? Was meeting Arianna worth the risk of having another Tom running around? The time to make a decision, a very personal one at that, had come again. This time, he would not do what was easy, but what was right.

* * *

Dumbledore, Charlus, James and Sirius were sitting in the Headmaster's office, each nursing a glass of scotch. For the younger two, it was a matter of joy. The last possible Horcrux of Lord Voldemort was gone. Voldemort was now mortal – or less, since he had less than a whole soul.

They hadn't bothered much beyond breaking the curses initially, to get them near enough to cast Fiendfyre. The outer protections had gone down, and then it was just the box which contained the damned ring. Both Charlus and Dumbledore had already started giving the ring, which seemed to be calling out to them, very covetous looks. The first licks of Fiendfyre, which destroyed it, seemed to break the spell. All the same, the two older men were disgruntled by the fact that they could no longer access the magics of the stone. For Sirius and James, it was truly a case of ignorance being bliss.

They were rejoicing, but silently so, seeing how neither Charlus nor Dumbledore were truly happy in the slightest. The older duo was simply staring away into nothingness. "We shall both take your leave now," Sirius diplomatically (!) offered, pulling James away by the arm. Neither was in the know, but both were at least cognisant of the melancholy draped over the two war veterans.

They received an absent nod from Dumbledore, but that was it. Once they were gone, the Headmaster sighed. He knew what was coming. Truly, he did not know what he could say.

The two were silent for a while before Charlus asked a few questions that surprised Dumbledore. Charlus asking questions wasn't surprising, but the questions were. "What would you have done if the spell had not worn off, or if it did not receive the adequate trigger to be released? How long do you think it would have taken for it to wear off? How _did_ it wear off?"

Dumbledore took a small sip before answering. "To all of them, I can honestly say that the answer is 'I don't know'. I can however speculate – but understand, it is only speculation. You destroyed _The Wand_. Other wands still work for their original owner. The Elder Wand, well you know its lore."

Charlus accepted the answer for what it was worth. He knew the pain that Dumbledore was experiencing. Adrian had taken the curse that would have killed him. Charlus had agonised over the 'what ifs' for years together, and it had nearly destroyed him. "I wanted to apologise to Adrian," he offered emphatically.

Dumbledore smiled wanly. It was very much like Charlus to offer an out to him in a way. "My sister Arianna for me," he replied, finishing off his glass soon after.

"Adrian threw himself in the line of fire. He might have lived instead."

"Arianna died in the first confrontation between me, Aberforth and Gellert," Dumbledore replied truthfully after a delay. "We never knew whose curse took her life."

"I could never look at Susan in the eye again, not till she slapped me silly."

"The guilt never goes away, does it?"

"It doesn't. Dorea and Susan made me swear that I would avenge him."

"It gave you purpose."

"Yes."

"Did you find who did it?"

"Vladimir Djekov, one of Grindelwald's imports from Romania," Charlus replied. "He died before I could get my hands on him."

"I never mustered enough courage to find out."

Dumbledore and Charlus chatted and drank the night away. This was the penultimate strike against Voldemort. The two had almost made it out of yet another war and had seen tremendous losses. When it all ended, they needed to have another of these sessions with Mad-Eye, Abe, Dorea and Augusta in attendance.

Elsewhere, the younger cadre of the Coven partied.

And elsewhere yet, a Dark Lord sat alone on his throne, ignorant of how tight the noose around his neck was, happily plotting a way to make a statement.

* * *

And there we are; something to bash Dumbledore with if you haven't considered it and like bashing, and a 'human' side to Dumbledore as a flawed man with good intentions, if you like that. Dumbledore really has very less scope for humour.


	8. Googly, Reverse Sweep

**Googly, Reverse Sweep...**

* * *

Title derived from terms pertaining to the game of cricket – The Gentleman's Game. Thanks to all followers, favourite list markers, 'alix33', 'Navn Ukjent', 'rbear1231', 'sandipi', 'Wolfric', 'Erik' (guest), 'MattKennedy', 'Fallow53' (guest), 'bao-earthdragon', "Kairan1979', 'davycrockett100', 'MarilynT', 'katmom', 'beyondthesea16', 'NotAMugwump' and 'blinddivinity' for the reviews.

 **Warning** : Snape is a horrible person in this story; references to female violation and harm to babies.

Regulus, Death Eater, willingly sacrifices his life to bring forth a piece of Voldemort, but doesn't know whom to turn to because he is not in a position to trust anyone, really and can't trust his family. He is glossed over and forgotten. Snape, the deluded, obsessed bully, seeking gratification through child abuse, willing to sacrifice the family and happiness of the woman he 'loves', becomes a hero and is redeemed. Yeah, that's right. That won't happen here.

This means, I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, it would have been epically Harmony, Death Eaters would not find much happiness or life, and Harry would name his kid **_Remus Regulus_** **_Potter (R-R-P, that'd be a SCARA robot...hmm)_** if he wanted to go with that theme. It seems less poncy than **_Albus Severus_** to me.

Oh, and I'd be rich, and wouldn't write here.

* * *

 **23** **rd** **December, 1979**

The Christmas party hosted by Frank for the Order (in spite of the Potters' and Longbottoms' resignations) at Longbottom Hall was in full swing. Senior members like Dumbledore, Elphias Doge, Cedrella and Septimus Weasley, Ignatius and Mildred Prewett, Alastor Moody, Aberforth Dumbledore, Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, the Salisbury couple, John and Hannah, and ex-members like Charlus, Dorea and of course, Augusta, were in attendance.

The Marauders, the traitor (who had just been tagged with a blood tracker through his drink – a simple sleeping spell was enough to get him to comply and donate blood for the 'cause'), Frank, the two Bones' brothers, Sturgis Podmore (not a part of the Coven), the Prewett twins, and the new Potter cousin, Eric (who stayed away assiduously from the rat), were _apparently_ indulging in drunken revelry. A new entrant to this group was Ralph Mason. During the four days as November ended and December started, this man had been missing.

* * *

Flashback:

* * *

 _The 4_ _th_ _of December, 1979 was a day of great joy for the Coven. The news that Voldemort was now eighty three percent dead had sparked off celebrations among its cadre. The end of this horrendous war was truly in sight. Particularly for the Potter, Longbottom and Bones families, it had been a matter of true relief. They were visible targets, and they knew the traitor in their midst. That was when they remembered that there was one man still to be checked – Ralph Mason._

 _So, with all the frenzied activities surrounding the prophecy and the control leaking of the same to Voldemort, he had gone under the radar, so to speak. With the initial stages of the plan more than just wrapped up, and with Voldemort certainly being more dead than alive soul-wise, it was time to address this problem._

 _Ralph Mason brought more problems which really had no straightforward solutions. Yes, he was a marked Death Eater. No, he didn't believe the stupidity that Voldemort was espousing. He was not even someone like Peter who was in it for some twisted form of personal gain, but like them was a vigilante, who had gone in with the idea to spy on that lot. He intended to be the inside source for the Order, but with its ineffectiveness and unwillingness to use what information he could bring, and with the fact that he was essentially caught up as a moneylender (the term 'lender' being very inaccurate as it was never going to be returned) and a leader for a sleeper cell, he had ended up being disenchanted with everything. He was stuck being simultaneously useless and useful and wanting to do the right thing and not being able to do anything at all._

 _On one hand, they felt bad about doubting him, vindicated with regards to the doubts about whether or not he was marked, triumphant that they really had extracted correct information from Peter, and felt sympathetic towards the man and his predicament. Ralph Mason was, to all extents and purposes, a person stranded in no man's land. His friends – which included most of the Coven – had divulged the extent of their activities to him with the understanding that they could not elaborate. If Voldemort looked into his mind, all he would know was that the Coven no longer worked with the Order, and that they had killed his Death Eaters. It was a situation everyone was content with for the time being._

 _The fact still remained though, that Ralph had at least had to murder an innocent for that Mark. It tainted his relationship with most of them to an extent, just as much as most of them still viewed Regulus will lingering distaste and suspicion. Those were taints that would probably never be washed off._

* * *

End: Flashback.

* * *

The people who were 'drunk', though, were actually watching every action, reaction and the behaviour of one Peter Pettigrew. He was constantly shifting around, looking at everything with fear, guilt, hatred, more fear, sadness, and resignation. Lily, Alice and Sylvia were now nearly two months along and were starting to show. It was not remarked upon at all, but there were the things they did to only subtly advertise it. The ladies did not touch the alcohol, while everybody else around them was always ensuring that they were comfortable. The two were also moving cautiously, though they weren't so encumbered that it was necessary. The other ladies of the Coven – Daphne Milner, Wilhelmina Coldword, Althea Brigham, Astoria Taylor, Emmaline Vance and Marlene McKinnon – had cornered the three expectant mothers, and having hijacked a corner, were causing enough noise while still sober to match the revellers.

The men themselves had taken sobering potions enough times between drinks to ensure that they never really got drunk. The party was a party really, but it was, for the Coven, also a ruse to reveal the pregnancies to the traitor and thereby bait the trap. It had been difficult, very terribly difficult, for them all to behave normally around Wormtail, knowing what the man was. But they were too far gone to back off now. Things were so tantalisingly close to the end, and while they had attempted to keep things very light-hearted over the past month, it was now rather obvious that the nerves were getting frayed.

Peter Pettigrew, for all his faults, was a very observant man. He had to be, given his role as a spy. He had seen enough during the party to derive his own conclusions. However, Peter was not the epitome of cleverness. His conclusions were, beyond the obvious almost entirely erroneous. Given the fact that the thing he served had not seen fit to tell him what he should have been looking for, he had chalked all the signs of stress he was seeing as something related to the pregnancies themselves. He had no knowledge of the prophecy at all.

It was only close to midnight when the drama was close to culmination. James and Frank stood up and strode to the centre of the room, the former giving the latter a friendly shove to demonstrate his inebriation, something that the manor Lord returned just as boisterously.

"Dailies and Mental-men," started Frank, who was then cut off when James poked him in the arm to cut him off.

"The right thing is Men and Gentle-ladies..." he whispered loud enough for it to carry. "The ladies are always supposed to be the gentle beings, see? We are rugged, not gentle!"

"Have you two had too much to drink? Not too old to put over my knee, either of you..."Augusta warned, causing the two grown men to cringe a bit.

"Whatever," Frank replied before carrying on. "The Houses of Longbottom and Potter..."

"...and Bones..." supplied Robert as he ambled over.

"...and Bones," agreed Frank, "We have announcements to make!"

This grabbed everyone's attention. People turned in their seats and chairs were shifted so that people could move over. Alice, Lily and Sylvia came over to join their husbands, beaming.

"Indeed! We are all proud to announce that our Houses are about to welcome the next generation in the coming year!" Robert declared joyfully.

There was a slight disagreement over this within the Coven. The Potters and the Longbottoms already knew that they were targets, and having been in on the plan from the very start, they were ready for several eventualities. They were unhappy with Sylvia being made a target, simply because the Bones' child would be born around the same time as the Potter and Longbottom children. However Robert had pointed out that in any case they were targets, as evidenced by the attack on the Ossuary. This way the Order would still look out for them and the protection would be higher. It was a valid point.

There were loud cheers in response. The Order had had precious little to celebrate till recently. For three among their numbers to have such good news made everyone really truly happy – well, except Pettigrew, of course. He was squirming like a rat that had chanced upon a truly scrumptious aroma and was unable to follow it. His Lord would be very pleased with this information.

There were toasts, words of blessing from the elders and lots of ribbing by the others. Peter mostly remained silent, unable to honestly share the joy. On one hand, he would have to betray his friends and a child. Even Peter had scruples there. Would he really feel nothing at all while betraying a child to its death? On the other, he had been promised protection, riches, power and women. Peter blinked. That was a bloody easy decision, wasn't it? He could almost picture himself like a king, rolling in wealth, surrounded by his harem, with a beauty feeding him grapes while another fanned him. A dreamy, stupid, goofy grin stretched across Peter's face.

He was jerked out of his daydreams by a hand around his shoulder. He fought the grimace that threatened to break out on his face.

"Wormy," Sirius addressed him very seriously.

"Pads," Peter acknowledged, plastering a smile on his face. They were joined by James and Remus. "Prongs, Moony," the rat added.

In spite of the wolf, so near to the surface with the transformation barely a week away, howling at him to tear the traitor apart, Remus somehow calmed himself and nodded back, as did James. "We need your help, Wormtail," the stag animagus gravely intoned. "Will you...?"

"Of course, Prongs, you just have to say the word."

" _Just die, you effing traitor!_ " would have been wholly inappropriate, so James instead looked over to his friends –true friends – in faux apprehension to stave off the moment. He then took a deep breath before explaining the 'situation' to Pettigrew. "Peter, **_HE_** is targeting Sirius, Remus and me for recruitment. We have known that for a very long time. **_HE_** is targeting Lils as well. We know that as well."

Peter could only nod. He himself had been given the job of sounding them out. He hadn't done it of course, and in his sole action of defiance, had engineered one of the confrontations between the Potters and Voldemort based upon a truly well-constructed lie. His three 'friends' had trained him well in pranks of such a nature. Either of the other three joining the Death Eaters would mean he would be consigned back to the lowly position of a minion of a minion of a minion of a...

"But now," continued James, "now I have my child to think of. I can't take that risk. That is why we intend to go into hiding."

"Hiding?" rasped Peter. This was bad. This was horrible. How was he supposed to tell his Lord about it and give him solid information if they went into hiding?

"Yes. And we, and by that I mean to say, Lily and I think that you should be the secret-keeper for the Fidelius Charm."

"Fidelius Charm?" squeaked Peter...so like a rat.

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore is renting us a cottage. He will put up the charm soon."

Peter had not watched cartoons, but his eyes could have easily imitated the best of Warner Brothers' and Hannah-Barbera's greediest characters' eyes. He still decided to be cautious and find out everything that they had planned before going ahead with it. "Why me, though?" he asked. "Why not have Padfoot or Moony do it?"

"Anyone who knows us through the years will know that I will immediately turn to Padfoot first. Next I'd turn to Moony. But I want you to do this. Nobody will think that you'd do it as they think you aren't a big dueller if it comes to that. But we know otherwise. And more importantly," he said forcefully, and in a low voice, as the words were wrenched from him, " _I trust you._ I trust you, Wormtail of the Marauders. _"_ _I trust you to sell me out._

That clinched it for Peter. James really was a fool. "I will do it," he promised with all the solemnity he could muster. He received weak smiles in response.

"Thanks Peter. I knew I could trust you."

The party broke up just after one in the morning and the traitor was among the first to leave. His former friends looked on dispassionately as he tried to scurry away as inconspicuously as possible.

"Think he ate it up?"

"Absolutely," replied Moony. "I could practically smell his excitement."

"YUCK!" protested James and Sirius as one. "Traitor or not, there are some things about people that I simply don't want to know!"

"You don't get to protest - either of you. I always feel squeamish eating at the kitchen table in your flat, Prongs. And the sheer number of times I have caught you in broom closets in varying degrees of compromising positions, Padfoot... Those times have burnt the images into my mind forever. I could never look at the girls without blushing again, and I had only caught you!" Remus commented with a shudder. "And I wasn't talking about that sort of excitement, you pair of jerks! His pulse had gone up; he was practically quivering with something akin to happiness and just couldn't wait."

"It's the same thing, Moony," Sirius pointed out.

"It is, isn't it?" the werewolf mused. "Any bets he goes scurrying over to his Master?" Remus was one of the subtler, innuendo-joke-cracking people. So when he said the word 'Master' it was said with such an inflection that the images it generated in his fellow Marauders' minds were decidedly of the risqué kind. When they groaned in protest, Remus asked innocently, "What? You don't want to take the bet?"

"You know _what_ , Moony. Don't act so innocent," James grumbled. "And of course, we can't take the bet. We learnt not to over the years we have been your friends. You rob people blind in bets because you always have inside information."

Remus just smiled widely.

The party was a success. The other side was also successfully infected. Now they just had to wait and fight for one year.

* * *

Peter was lazy. So he decided to postpone telling Voldemort the three families' happy news till the next day. Remus would have lost the bet had the three true marauders actually had a bet. Peter' fear of Voldemort dishing out the Cruciatus because he was woken at that late hour was greater than his excitement.

"My Lord," Peter squeaked as he prostrated himself at Voldemort's feet the following day.

"Speak, Wormtail."

"My Lord you had asked for news within the Order."

"Yes."

"My Lord, Potter, Longbottom and Bones are going to have children."

Voldemort, who was stroking the head of his familiar, a snake of unknown species which was draped around his neck across the back of his 'throne', stilled. "Say that again," he hissed.

Peter started cowering. "My Lord, Potter, Longbottom and Bones are going to have children."

"When shall they?"

"Sometime at the end of July..."

Voldemort stood up in a motion that startled both the snake and Peter. The reptile flicked its tongue speculatively and slithered towards Peter, who whimpered and reflexively moved closer to Voldemort, which was a different kind of danger in and of itself.

"Silence Wormtail!" spat the Dark Lord at his minion, as he paced on the dais upon which the throne sat in the darkened room. When the first flare of panic had died off and he had calmed down enough, he demanded, "Tell me more."

Peter almost heaved a sigh of relief...almost. So long as he was in the same room with the Dark Lord and that Merlin damned snake, he could truly count on every breath being his last. "Potter announced it to the Christmas Party the Order had last night."

"And I am hearing about it now? Crucio!" screamed the Dark Lord.

If he could think, Peter could have cursed himself – if he weren't already being cursed. With his extremities twitching and him having pissed in pain, his only true incentive to stand up was the snake which, as for all snakes was attracted due to the rat's scent. Poisonous snakes' venom always causes their prey to lose control of their bodies. For another, if he didn't clean himself and the floor up, the next spell heading his way would be the _Avada Kedavra_. Why was he still serving the madman? Oh yes; he had been promised a really good life.

Slowly tottering up to his feet, he cast the cleaning and air-freshening charm and cried, "Mercy, my Lord!" as he sank to his knees again. "I returned very late last night, and I believed you would not like to be disturbed during your rest!"

Voldemort evidently decided that it was an acceptable excuse, so the torture curse didn't find its way back to Peter again. He instead resorted to threatening Peter. "If you value your life, Peter, I want you to tell me everything, **_now_**!"

And so Peter told Voldemort everything. What he heard was rather excellent, Voldemort decided. The part where Peter was asked to be the secret-keeper amused him so much that he laughed outright (it was a curious sound, like an air-pump used for bicycle tyres). Potter had fallen into the trap that most people fell into – friendship and trusting another human, or indeed, for that matter, any other being that could think for itself. It was why he would be easy to destroy as would his entire family. Family; that word and the emotions people connected with it made him want to vomit. He gave an ophidian grin at that as he allowed himself to relish the thought of destroying three families. It made him feel all warm and tingly inside.

"Stand up Wormtail," he commanded and was instantly obeyed. "You have done well. I want you to go ahead with the plan. In fact, since they are, as you say, so insistent on outsmarting me, let me help you help them further..."

Wormtail would have smiled, but his heart wasn't truly in it anymore. He bloody ached. Damn this Dark Lord, damn his friends and damn spying! All he wanted was the riches and a good night's sleep now. When Voldemort was done, and he had jotted it all down on a piece of parchment, he left to accomplish his second need.

Once the rat had left, Voldemort paced some more. The prophecy; yes, it was a load of hooey. But he knew that these things had a way of coming true, if someone who actually believed in them, or was desperate enough, did things wilfully or otherwise to set them in motion. He personally would never believe it. Believing a prophecy meant believing in fate, or destiny or whatever. That meant believing in a power higher than Lord Voldemort's own power. And that was impossible.

On the other hand, there were a few things that he knew he could use the prophecy as an opportunity to work around. His first instinct was to let the children be born. The three couples in question were all powerful individuals, and he had no doubt that the children would be just as powerful, if not more. Of course, they wouldn't rival **_him_** in power, but still for commoners (which meant everyone who wasn't him) they would be respectably powerful. Killing the parents and raising the children to be his Death Eaters would be an excellent way out. But would that be really possible, when Dumbledore who had heard the prophecy would be looking out for them?

And there was the crux of the problem. He didn't want to leave it to chance. He didn't want some fluke of nature or magic to occur and push the prophecy into becoming self-fulfilling. He didn't want there to be any doubt about the power and immortality of Lord Voldemort. The Potter, Longbottom and Bones lines had to end. And he would start with the Potters. He deserved a birthday gift, after all, didn't he?

No, he decided. There was no way the children would be born. There was no need for any threats to come into existent. It would be the right thing to do, eliminating them l while the women were unable to fight.

* * *

 **26** **th** **December, 1979, Boxing Day**

* * *

Dumbledore had just cast the Fidelius Charm on the house he was going to sacrifice. He hated that house. There were no good memories for him here. His sister had been hurt badly the first time close to this place and his father had been sentenced to Azkaban forever. His childhood had been abject due to the circumstances. His mother and sister had died right here in this house. His family had been destroyed there as well.

In a quirk of fate, therefore, this house was going to serve a greater purpose when it would be destroyed a year on with the most feared and hated Dark Lord in recent history. And given the fact that Gellert Grindelwald – another bad memory associated with this house – was around only three decades before Tom, that was, in a perverse way, quite the achievement.

He felt a strange urge to laugh, as the traitor, Pettigrew (he had been told; the Coven wasn't about to hide such important information at such a crucial juncture) accepted the secret-keeping duties. The trap was set, the bait was tied. Now the shikari would sit tight in anticipation.

Peter, however, had a surprise for them. "James, years ago, the Marauders made a vow to each other, a vow of loyalty and duty to each other. I invoke that today. I Vow on my very life and magic, to keep this secret, and protect it with my life and my honour, and my pledge."

Perhaps friendship and humanity weren't so dead after all. James looked at the traitor strangely for a moment. His face took a troubled mien, before a smile, not unlike the one he had worn before pulling off a spectacular prank blossomed on his face. Peter smiled uncertainly at his friend, something which the oldest among them caught.

Yes, decided Dumbledore. Peter had chosen the right side, after all.

* * *

Voldemort sat and listened gleefully as Peter recounted the casting of the Fidelius Charm. This had gone according to the plan, the masterful plan that he, Lord Voldemort had concocted. He had cleverly played on the weaknesses of his enemy. He had known for some time that the Order knew that they had a traitor in their midst. Offering a Vow, voluntarily, to protect the secret with his pledge, life and magic was the wording just as he had commanded Peter to use. After all, the Death Eaters had pledged their life and magic for their Lord to command. It was so easy to make a true Vow in words yet have it mean something totally different in meaning.

Now it was time to set things in motion. He sent for his resident Potioneer, Severus Snape. The man had quite the history with Potter, his wife, and his friends. Perhaps Severus would be up for some revenge and some fun?

"Milord," Snape addressed his master, as he prostrated himself when he turned up barely minutes later.

"Rise, Severus." Voldemort observed the man inscrutably for several moments. Finally he spoke, "We have a job for you Severus..."

Not knowing whether to acknowledge that in words or to remain silent, Snape decided to bow. That made Voldemort smile. He didn't like too many clever minions; he wasn't foolish enough to discount the power of a clever multitude (then again, maybe he was). But in Severus Snape, he was sure that he had a gem of a servant who was as good with his wand as he was with his brains. He had some ambivalent ideas regarding the risk that the man possessed, especially with the knowledge he now had, but with enough control, he could come to believe Severus yet. That would be quite the first.

"We believe you have heard that the prophecy you told us about has been set into motion."

"Yes Milord. I have heard something to that effect from what Pettigrew told me. He was not clear about the details however."

Voldemort remained silent to make it seem as if he wanted Severus to shut up, which he did. A full minute later, he spoke, "So Severus, I hope you remember our good friend, James Potter?" The savage snarl that broke out on the face of the otherwise stoic Snape nearly made Voldemort laugh outright. "You do remember," he said in an amused voice, stoking the fire of hatred that the Death Eater seethed with.

"Yes Milord," the greasy-haired man answered through gritted teeth. "I remember that blood-traitor."

 _Silly Severus; he was still unable to face the facts that he was bested in his obsession by the better man who was worthy of the mudblood,_ the Dark Lord mused. Even he knew that Severus wasn't worthy of anyone to breed with or even be with, let alone the witch touted to be the cleverest witch, and from his personal experience, also the most vicious witch of her generation. Even he knew that making someone fall in love with oneself was the pinnacle of manipulation, and he was something of an expert on the subject, having managed it thrice. The foolish women had been excellent sacrifices on the altar of his immortality. Snape had befriended people who hated Lily Evans on sight and had called her a mudblood, and had been among those who tortured and defiled her friend who was similarly handicapped in terms of her circumstances of birth. Severus Snape hoped to find a willing woman in Lily Evans? Hah!

Still, all the anger, hatred and irrationality could be channelled, couldn't it? Unless he was wrong – and he wasn't, for nobody knew better than he the ways to identify, manipulate and channel the negative 'emotions' and traits in a person – Severus was wallowing in self-pity, a feeling of betrayal, jealousy, and hatred for the man, and anger at the woman for spurning him. This was most amusing and useful. And he thought it was 'love'. Hah! Love was a myth. It didn't exist.

"Well then," he continued, poking at the one weakness of the man, "you will be most happy to hear that they have some very happy news! They are about to welcome a new little Potter within the coming year!"

Severus Snape was doing his utmost to prevent himself from bursting with all the rage he felt. Even his iron-control over his thoughts and emotions was unable to restrict the sheer betrayal and hatred he felt. Lily was now bearing the beastly spawn of Potter? She, who was **_his_** woman, had not only betrayed him, by somehow marrying the...the...he didn't even have words enough to describe Potter... and now was carrying his child?

Knowing that he had provoked Severus enough to make the man lose all rationality, Voldemort now started to direct all the hatred the man felt. "Well, Severus, it seems you are in luck."

The words barely made it through the haze of anger, but Severus jerked his head towards his Master.

"You brought the Prophecy, did you not? Well, the Potter spawn fulfils the criteria. Its parents have defied me thrice, and the child itself will be born as the seventh moth dies..."

It took some time for the words to percolate into Snape's brain, and for him to understand them. When they did, though, the savage anger turned into an animalistic sort of glee.

Now simply so that Severus could amuse him further, Voldemort allowed the man a free rein over his behaviour in his, Lord Voldemort's, presence. Severus rose shakily to his feet, breathing harshly and with a cruel glint in his eyes. He paced a bit to calm himself a bit, knowing he would be held under the Cruciatus for this. But if his voice rose, it would be worse. Finally, when he pronounced himself fit to speak to his master again, he faced Voldemort.

"Milord..."

"Speak, Severus," Riddle replied, unable to keep a hint of mirth from his voice.

"I beg for a boon."

"Speak."

"I beg that you spare the mudblood's life. I want her for myself." He would never call Lily by her name around Voldemort. He had to call her mudblood. But then, wasn't that the thing that had driven her into Potter's arms? Never mind. She would be his.

Voldemort completely expected it and also what was going on in his Potion Master's mind. But for appearances' sake, he asked in a hiss, "Do you mean we should spare this so-called threat to us?"

"No Milord," Snape backtracked. "That spawn of evil shall be...taken care of...of course. There are potions. I shall have them ready for you to administer to her by your own hands," he offered.

"And you believe she will come to you out of her old sense of friendship?"

"That no longer matters, Milord. I believe I shall be able to... ** _convince_**...her..."

"Good."

There was nothing more to be said and Snape was dismissed. Voldemort stared at the door his minion had just left through with a weird expression. Then it started. It started as a low hiss, before it became a full-blown gale of laughter. Idiots! The lot of them were idiots! But all the same, the sheer diabolic nature of the 'plan' Severus had to win the mudblood over impressed Voldemort. He could recognise another driven man like himself. Severus was driven by the need to make the mudblood his own, just as he himself was driven by the ambition to be immortal.

The mudblood was important to his plans as well. Her presence – as he thought of it, his love for her, and therefore an inhibiting factor – would keep Severus from more grandiose ambitions. She would have to be spared.

* * *

 **31** **st** **December 1979**

* * *

Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew accompanied their master to Godric's Hollow. Each of them was in a similar state of mind. They were feeling a very miniscule sliver of guilt, which was very thoroughly overwhelmed by their anticipation of reward.

For Peter, it was only the slightest of guilt that he was sending Prongs to his death, along with Lily and their child. But he ruthlessly quashed it with the things he had been telling himself for quite some time. The Marauders had not treated him fairly. They hadn't treated him with respect. This meant nothing. Prongs meant nothing to him, nor did Lily. This was not betrayal. Hadn't James apprenticed under Mad-Eye Moody? He should have checked him. He should not have trusted him. James fully deserved what was coming for him, just as he deserved the riches and power he would be rewarded with for this.

Snape was entertaining similar thoughts. Potter would end with the year. Potter, who had tormented him through his school life, who had bullied him viciously, who had been the popular berk, who was liked by everyone and who had stolen **_his, Severus'_** woman, **_his_** Lily from him, would die today. Potter, who defiled Lily, would die today. And Potter's spawn from hell, would soon follow its worthless father. And then Lily would be his. The thoughts made him smile viciously. Lily would repent for choosing Potter and having the audacity to marry him and bear his child. She needed to be re-educated. He might have told the Dark Lord that he wanted her as a slave, but she would be his queen. A laugh was wrenched from him against all control.

In their respective anticipation and bloodlust, neither saw how ironic it was, and how horrible everyone would have found it that Peter Pettigrew, once a Marauder, and Severus Snape, sworn enemies, were working together to murder families and innocent, unborn children.

"James and Lily Evans-Potter live at 4, The Old Forest Road, Godric's Hollow," Peter declared. For once in his life, Severus Snape rushed in like a Gryffindor, Voldemort following languidly in their wake...


	9. And Wicket

**…** **And Wicket**

A/N: Thanks as usual to the reviewers: 'katmom', 'magitech', 'MattKennedy', 'davycrockett100' and 'Kairan1979', 'sandipi' and 'Fallow53'. But special gratitude is reserved for 'NotAMugwump'. The previous iteration of 'Googly, Reverse Sweep...' was entirely poor, and 'NotAMugwump' put that across straightaway. The word used was buzz-kill, which might have been a substitute for...er...bovine dung. Thanks a lot, NotAMugwump. This includes the Epilogue.

* * *

 **31** **st** **December, 1979, Hogwarts**

It was the end of yet another year for Dumbledore, the man sitting in a tower at Hogwarts. At eighty six, he had truly seen far too many.

It was, quite literally, in terms of the war, the best of times and the worst of times. It was the year of wisdom on the part of those he least expected it from and was the year when his foolishness had been rubbed into his face. It truly had been the year of darkness, followed by the season of Light. Just at the onset of the winter, in a time of despair, there was a spring of hope. Where once it seemed there would be nothing left to fight for, and then there was too much to lose all of a sudden. It was a time for heroes, and it was the time of betrayal. Where once the actions taken, he believed would have sent him to Hell, he now knew the lives saved meant he could argue for a place in Avalon when his time came (not that he had agreed initially or had taken up that course of action himself, or that his first reaction would have taken him to the hallowed heaven).

In short, for Dumbledore, it was like any other year he had had since the turn of the century.

It would be debatable whether Dumbledore thought in such Dickensian ways, but the truth was, that, like most other people, the year's end was a time of rumination and meditation and deep thought, as one sank deeper into the bottle.

At the moment, however, one thought was worrying him the most. It was the thought of betrayal. Peter Pettigrew, the one person who seemed afraid of everything, had done what, as he now realised, pitifully terrible people do. He had turned traitor.

He had seen how his friends had befriended him, kept him close, had helped him through the years and had protected him from others. The Marauders, as the four called themselves, weren't saints, but they took care of their own, as Peter had been taken care of. But he had spat on that...just as Gellert had spat on their friendship and trodden the path of Darkness. He saw so many similarities that it scared the unflappable Albus Dumbledore.

And the fear, an offshoot of his instincts, made him nervous.

Peter had taken vowed to protect the secret with his life, magic and his pledge when he had been assigned the secret-keeper. At the time, he had been pleased with how things were panning out. A traitor too was a human, and somewhere something became too much for even a traitor to betray. At the time he had believed that Peter had chosen his friends over his master. It had warmed his heart.

But now it didn't sit well with him. The whole crux of the matter was the word 'pledge'. He remembered something he knew already, but hadn't struck him then. Each Death Eater pledged his life and magic to the service of the Dark Lord. So Peter had already pledge everything into Voldemort's service. What worth was his Vow to James then? And then there was the fact that it was a Vow, not an Unbreakable Vow, and certainly not a magical Oath.

This meant that Peter could betray James with impunity and face no consequences whatsoever. He was free to do what he pleased in that aspect. This meant that the Potters were really unguarded. He had to change things, and immediately!

Another aspect of the whole matter was the fact that he hated the house and it had long held terrible memories for him. It had been his childhood home. It was where they lived before his father was arrested for avenging Arianna. It was where his sister had to be kept in something close to magical mental trauma ward captivity without help from institutions like St. Mungo's because they had no money to pay them. It was where his mother had died. It was where he had felt locked up and where he, Gellert had come. It was where he had taken steps down the path to becoming a Dark Lord himself. It was where Arianna was killed in a fight that she wasn't even a part of.

As if just thinking of the matter was a trigger, the alarms that were tied to the wards he had helped set up there blared. Dumbledore swore roundly and grabbed his wand. His worst fears weren't even given time to solidify before they came to life. This was horrible! He couldn't lose people now, not when they were so close to ending the war! Curse that blasted rat! He had betrayed them after all!

With spryness belying his age, Dumbledore grabbed his wand and called out to his companion. The phoenix, knowing the distress his human felt, latched on to Dumbledore's arm and flashed away into battle. The house at Godric's Hollow would see no death of any innocents that night! It was time that he, Albus Dumbledore, confront this blot on magical society, Lord Voldemort, and end things for once and for all! This would be a fight to the death!

* * *

Snape blasted open the door of the house and strode in, leading the charge, with Peter following in his wake. There was no sign of any person in the rooms downstairs, and it was dark. With a flick of his wand, he lit the lights within the room and looked around. And there was Potter bold as brass standing behind him, quivering with fright.

"Not so bold now, are we, Potter?" Snape sneered. "You took Lily from me. Now when I kill you tonight, I will have her..." he declared triumphantly.

Peter was on the other hand, stuck and frozen, quite literally. He was stuck in a tile of glue. He recognised what this was. It was what the muggles called rat traps. He stood quivering in fear as a snarling James advanced onto him, brandishing his wand.

"I am sorry!" the rat squeaked frantically. "I am sorry, James! He was too powerful! We couldn't have won! Please Prongs, it's me, Wormtail! Please don't kill me!"

James' voice came out as a sneer. "Not so bold now, are you? You so boldly made a Vow to protect the secret. Now when I kill you tonight, I will have your head on a pike..."

Snape raised his wand, wanting to do nothing but to cause pain to Potter. Peter saw the hatred etched on James' face and knew what was coming. The Cruciatus struck true. Snape saw Potter writhing in pain. Peter whimpered as James held him under the Cruciatus Curse.

* * *

Dumbledore flashed just outside the gates of that house of horrors. He saw the liquid coal of Voldemort's robes billowing as the fiend walked into the house as if he owned it. Once he would have called out to Voldemort and sought a fair battle. Not today, he wouldn't. He needed everything in the arsenal of a fighter and surprise was a key element.

He made to run in after Voldemort when a gentle hand on his arm stopped him. He couldn't see anyone, but it was a woman's hand, he knew. Knowing this to be a trick, he grabbed the hand and was surprised. The pulse was erratic, if one were to consider and compare it to a normal woman's pulse. It was almost as if it was the pulse of a pregnant...

"Calm down, Professor," spoke the voice of a disillusioned Lily Potter. There was a definite note of mirth and excitement in her voice.

"Lily?" he called weakly.

"Yes. Please, come along."

Dumbledore, now thoroughly discombobulated by everything that was going on, allowed himself to be led onto the small lawn. He cast a sensory charm to get his bearings. It was Lily who was leading him alright. She led him to a set of seats where the members of the Coven, Bartemius Crouch, several Aurors, Abe, Alastor, Dorea, Augusta and Charlus were sitting. Missing from their numbers were the Prewett twins, Frank, Eric, James, Remus and Sirius.

"What is going on?" he asked.

"Lily just smiled at him and pointed, instead of answering, to a set of multiple mirrors. The images he saw surprised him. Well, that was an understatement, and a massive one at that.

* * *

With the first bout of the Cruciatus done, Snape wanted to gloat. He wanted to tell Potter what he would do to his body, how he would desecrate it. But that would mean taking time out of the torture he had reserved for the man. It would mean giving him a breather. So he brought out the curses, the esoteric ones he had studied for this very reason. He had hoped to one day use them on Potter.

Peter wailed, cried and whimpered as James cast the entrails-expelling curse, blood boiling curse, and so many others on him. No promises by the Dark Lord were protecting him from this onslaught. He no longer had a voice left to protest and it had only been two minutes, two agony-filled minutes during which his former friend had brutally sent him to his death.

It was at this point that Voldemort entered the room, after checking around and taking his time and rehearsing his evil villain speech. That was important. What was the point otherwise? He walked in on the unlikely image (in his service that is, and without his orders) of Snape torturing Pettigrew. What was interesting was that Pettigrew was standing in what seemed to be a tile of glue. 'In' was probably right, because his feet had sunk right in.

The little spy was no longer even shouting for help and seemed resigned to death. Snape, though, looked gleeful. Well, Pettigrew was no use anymore. Everyone would soon know who the traitor was, and they would have already lost their prophesised saviours by then. His tolerance ended when Snape started gloating. Voldemort saw red. Snape was a minion, damn it! It was above his pay scale! Only the chief villains were allowed to gloat!

"Thus end the high and mighty Potter, betrayed by his friend, and killed at the hands of the rightful victor, as even you must have known all along Potter..." he gloated. "To the victor go the spoils, Potter. Your filthy child will join you soon!" the man jeered. "And then vengeance, and Lily, will both be mine!" Then before he could be stopped, he had cast the killing curse at Potter, killing Peter Pettigrew instantly...

* * *

"Wow," muttered Gideon. "Snivellus..."

"...is really full of himself."

"As if..."

"...this attack"

"...was something"

"...that we hadn't predicted!"

"As if he could have ever got one over any of us," scoffed 'Eric'.

"Oh look!" squealed Sirius giddily. "That's Mouldy-shorts!"

"He has come!" announced Remus, equally happily.

"Come on boys," Frank chastised, "let's not waste time. We have got to play with our prey, after all..."

James was not in as mirthful a mood though. "Snivellus has something on his person. He said the Prongslet would be killed without killing Lils. There's a potion or something. We've got to be careful."

"Of course we shall be," the others echoed equally harshly, in unison. "Let's get to it, team. We have to put this beast down."

* * *

As the curse flew at the hapless, battered Pettigrew, Voldemort realised what had happened. A Confundus Curse... they had got his servants with Confundus Curses that made at least Severus think that Pettigrew was Potter. And there was a trap to keep Pettigrew in place. So this was, obviously a trap for them all.

It was all that Voldemort had time to process as something large, red and hard flew at him and smacked him in the face, followed by the sounds of all the doors and windows being shut and bolted. Shaking with rage, the Dark Lord caught the thing, which he recognised as a quaffle, that infernal thing they used in that accursed sport, Quidditch, which was what he would thoroughly destroy once he became the supreme ruler.

As soon as he caught the quaffle, it transformed into a letter and a pair of magic-repressing handcuffs, the latter snapping around his wrists. "WHAT CHILDISHNESS IS THIS?" he hissed. He really shouldn't have made hissing second nature. It completely marred the effect when he wanted to roar out in anger and found that he no longer could.

"Oh shut up you twit," called a voice from the door to his right. Seven figures clad in black Quidditch regalia, complete with the protective gear emerged from it, and one of them cast a petrifaction curse at Severus, who was breathing heavily in imagined triumph. "Read the letter."

Almost against his will, his eyes were drawn to the letter.

 _Hello Tom,_

 _We knew you were too greedy and would want the 'threat' out of the way as soon as possible. We planted a false prophecy in Snape's head and knew about Pettigrew's true loyalties. The oath really was overkill._

 _Now you are up against a bunch of Quidditch fans, four of whom could have gone on to play professionally – one as a chaser, and the other three as a beaters._

 _You are going to die. Really, you are. You can't confide it in some diary, you can't wear a ring or necklace for protection, Rowena's diadem won't give you any wisdom and you can't drink some potion to save you from Helga's cup. Oh, and you can't use the trophy as your shield either._

 _We would say it was good to know you, but that would be a lie._

 _Mischief managed!_

 _The Coven_

* * *

"Popcorn, Professor?" offered Alice, holding the paper pyramid-with-the-vertex-cut of popcorn out to the Headmaster.

For once in his life, Dumbledore was not unhappy to be either shocked, surprised, or both. As he watched the three depraved people being outwitted into submission by a series of pranks, and particularly, saw and heard what the Potions Master spoke before killing Peter Pettigrew under the thrall of the Confundus Hex, he no longer had the worry that he was in some way being duped. Knowing the people involved as he did through the numerous detentions they had served with (even) him over the years, he was sure of their identities.

The Marauders, and anyone they found so companionable, would turn even the killing of the most terrible Dark Lord of their times into a joke of some sort. They could never be serious about anything, even with Sirius amongst them. That thought made the Headmaster of Hogwarts groan involuntarily as he cracked the tired pun-joke. Holy Merlin! Now he had been somehow pulled into that sort of mess.

Augusta looked at the man sympathetically. "Did you just crack a Sirius-serious pun in your head?"

Dumbledore could only nod slightly morosely, as he accepted the muggle paper-cone full of popcorn of every imaginable, yet nice and edible flavour from the young Lady Longbottom.

"You get accustomed to that after a while. We had to hear that thrice a minute when these kids told us about their plan," Augusta consoled. "It only stopped once Lily threatened to...what was it Dorea?'

"She threatened to take him to a vet and get him neutered."

Dumbledore just cracked a weak smile, as he grabbed a fistful and ate the crunchy snack. He hummed in approval. This was infinitely better than sherbet lemon. He was bored of that tartness.

"So, how long has this been going on?" he asked. "When did you suspect that they would attack?"

"When we made Peter the secret keeper of course," answered Dorea. "Tom was never the most patient of people and his greed was legendary. He could have never waited for the opportunity, and might even have tried to coax away another piece of his soul tonight."

"Oh," was all Dumbledore could say in reply. They really had planned for all eventualities.

* * *

Fear was the dominant feeling gripping the Dark Lord. "What have you done?" he hissed.

"We have killed large part of you," a voice he knew belonged to a Death Eater. "Remember the elf, Kreacher? You always did underestimate the elves, didn't you? Well, he brought it all to me, his master." The man removed his helmet for a moment.

"Regulus Black, the traitor," surmised Voldemort as he seethed. "You do know that the dark mark bound you to me, don't you? As soon as I am done with these fools, I will kill you as you watch your treachery become worthless."

"Oh you stupid man!" mocked Regulus as he rolled his sleeve upwards. The Dark Mark had been replaced by the crest of the House of Potter. "I am no Death Eater. Our friends in the Department of Mysteries needed just my memories and ten days to free me from you. Once I was 'killed', or rather, declared dead to the family magic, I ceased to be Regulus Black. All my oaths drew upon that, you know. I have been working within your numbers to cut you lot down for all the time since being marked. That was deemed as sufficient penance by the Lord Potter. After that, I swore the same pledge I swore to you, to my new Uncle. Voila! I am an unmarked Death Eater!"

"Enough explanations, Cousin Eric," James broke in. "Understand, Riddle, that your Horcruxes are now all gone. We would probably offer you a chance for remorse, but that wouldn't be fun. Goodbye!" He fished out a shrunken crate from his pocket, prompting all the others to do the same. When they were restored to their correct dimensions, a moment later, Voldemort had a hard time controlling his cringe.

"Any last words, Mouldy-shorts?" asked Lord Black, with a truly manic grin across his features. "Lucius, Bella, Rudolphus and Rabastan had a lot to say before they died."

"Killing your own family, Black?" the Dark Lord sneered. Even in the throes of certain defeat and destruction he wouldn't let go of his 'style'.

"What would you know? Your mummy took a piece of your daddy, couldn't stomach having your ugly mug for a child and snuffed it in terror," Sirius responded blithely.

"Do you dishonour all whom you kill?"

"Nah, this..."

"...is a special treatment"

"...that is reserved for you."

"You know," remarked Remus, "you could try splitting up two word curses. You know, Fabian could say Avada, Gideon could say Kedavra."

"Doesn't work," replied one of the twins dejectedly.

"We tried," his twin supplied.

"Could we just finish this up already?" Frank asked in slightly exasperated irritation. "I would like Lily to have a crack at Snivellus. The longer we spend here, the longer Snape has to have a coronary."

"Right," the twins and the three true Marauders agreed sheepishly. With the sort of conversation they were having, nobody would have connected this situation to that of taking care of a Dark Lord. With a flick of Frank's wand, the crates were open. With another, the bludgers were released.

"Bye, bye Voldy!" Remus cried in a little boy voice as he swung the bat in his hand with a true aim. "Sad Birthday! Have a happy Death-day!" The morbid wishes were echoed by the others. Ten bludgers, all made of solid iron, and weighing a hundred and fifty pounds each, and seven bat-happy wizards were just as effective against Dark Lords as a duel. Of course, since Lily was to have a crack at Snape, he was kept unharmed...relatively.

The people watching the Dark Lord being bludgeoned to death were now feeling exasperated. At least a little sense of decorum could have been observed. Now they were just hitting the bludgers around with wild abandon like overgrown children.

"I think I am going to retire before the children come to Hogwarts," Dumbledore announced wearily. "I still had some colour to my hair, you know, when this lot came to Hogwarts."

"A white-haired Minerva will look so odd," Lily retorted. She eyed the headmaster curiously. "You are taking this too calmly..."

"I had come here to finish Tom off before he could touch any of you," Dumbledore replied. "I have had enough trouble to last a lifetime. This had to end today, for once and for all." Then he allowed his disappointment to show. "They are having a bit too much fun."

"They are," agreed Dorea. She cast the sonorous charm on her throat. "That's quite enough boys!"

On the screens they could see the petulance that this pronouncement garnered in response.

* * *

The magical world woke up to the Daily Prophet awash with the photographs of the 'Quidditch Team' standing triumphantly over the broken body of Lord Voldemort, prompting celebrations across the length and breadth of the country. Dedalus Diggle was almost arrested for flouting the Statute of Secrecy.

There were the doubters, till the Ministry and the DMLE released transcripts and memories of the scenes from the monitoring charms that had been set-up that night. Of course, they were abridged to edit out the mention of the Horcruxes, and also of the freedom of Regulus Black from servitude. Nobody needed real Death Eaters getting patrons. The orders for Aurors to persecute and prosecute them were passed rather quickly.

In the process, the Beaters of Voldemort were all awarded Orders of Merlin, First Class, and so were the others who had helped orchestrate the whole matter. For Remus, that was a welcome change in his status.

Severus Snape was kissed by a dementor, but was pushed into the containment field by Lily Potter. The heinous man became the lightning rod for public anger against the Death Eaters. It had been a bit of a problem containing public sentiment from turning it into a mob mentality. The punishment that was carried out just after Snape uttered his famous last words, "Lily...look at me..." mollified the people somewhat. The redhead had of course done no such thing and had retorted with an impassioned, "Fuck off!" before pushing the man through.

The really scary reaction, though, was a Molly Weasley-howler to her brothers which arrived right in the middle of a press conference on the first day of the New Year. WWN had sent a reporter there. Naturally, the whole country knew what Molly Weasley, a hormonal, pregnant Molly Weasley at that, thought of her brothers' shenanigans.

"YOU STUPID IDIOTS!" her voice sounded out, shorting several wireless sets. "WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEHAVING LIKE JUVENILE PRANKSTERS?

"MUM AND DAD WERE SCARED OUT OF THEIR WITS! WERE YOU TRYING TO GET KILLED? I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT ARTHUR AND I WOULD HAVE GONE THROUGH, OR MUM AND DAD IF YOU HAD GONE AND GOTTEN YOURSELF HURT! WE GOT A LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE! OUR PARENTS DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BEHAVE LIKE HELLIONS! WAIT TILL YOU COME OVER FOR DINNER! YOU ARE NOT TOO OLD FOR ANY OF US TO PUT OVER OUR KNEE!"

The action of two grown wizards, conquerors of Voldemort, gulping in fear, was captured in a photograph that displayed who exactly the greater threat and the scarier person was. Of course, the howler's effect was marred by an alternating babyish giggle in the background. Clearly, a set of nearly two year-old-twins had found their heroes and had attempted to say so.

It was indeed, the perfect New Year's gift for the magical world.

* * *

 **Eleven years and nine months later:**

Professor Lily Potter was on the King's Cross station. For that time, till 11 am, she wasn't a Professor. She was there as the mother of one Harry Potter. At her side, with her and as part of the farewell party were Eleanor Potter, eight, James Potter, and Charlus and Dorea Potter. She was savouring the feeling of family. She had relished the feeling of home over the past months, away from the school where she had taken up the vacant position of the Alternate Magical Usages and Practices, a new course which dealt with using magic in new and inventive ways. This was in conjunction with her position as a scout for the Department of Mysteries where she had performed groundbreaking research and earned Masteries in Charms and Potions en route.

Her husband too had joined the department as a sign of truce between the two Moody brothers, wherein they could both claim him as a part of a special department specialising in 'field studies' which was to say he helped counter Dark Lords before they became a problem. The Beaters were part of this team, simply to ensure that what worked was not disturbed. Of course, this meant that there were several instances when the end results were slightly disturbing. It had initially become a headache till the department realised that the team did jobs in a way that ensured that there was no need for obliviations to be performed on muggles.

The boy in question was a mixture of his parents. He was a prankster of the highest order, but had learnt moderation at his mother's knee. With Neville Longbottom, Draco Black-Lupin (the son of Narcissa and the adopted son of Remus Lupin; they were veering towards marriage, after Narcissa had to fend off her niece's excessive attention directed towards Remus. It had all been a complete surprise) and Ronald Weasley, under the tutelage of the Weasley twins, Hogwarts was already gearing up for the return of the Marauders.

"You will write won't you?" Eleanor asked.

"I will try, Ellie. Otherwise I will try sending howlers. Mum can't send me any," he pointed out.

"And here I was thinking that I might miss you. Thank you for disabusing me of the notion."

"I am very glad to be of service. And disabusing? Writing to that pen-pal of yours, have you?" Charlus, Dorea and Augusta had lobbied extensively for muggleborn children to be told about their skills and powers as soon as the first bout of magic was registered. To bridge the gap between the magically raised children and the muggleborn, the pen-pal system had been constituted. Eleanor was friends with a girl four years her senior, and having a better grasp of the English language than the average tween.

"May I remind you that she is your pen-pal as well? And if you pull a prank on Hermione I will set Auntie Althea on you."

Althea Brigham-Potter, the wife of Eric was the resident disciplinarian. She was the one who kept the kids in line, much in keeping with her maternal nature, which was only a part of her day. Her other occupation was running the company Eric (Regulus) had started. The Death Eater was what most would call a weirdo. He ran a type of business born from his care of Kreacher – a house-elf employment exchange – as a cover for his work with the Beaters.

Their marriage was not even a probability when it all started. Eric, then Regulus Black, a Death Eater, had a lot of ground to cover in the eyes of others who were in the know. Althea, his staunchest critic became the person he would try to get on the good side of. Seven years of becoming something that she wouldn't object to turned into seven years of becoming someone worthy of her love. They were expecting the third Potter child after Eleanor.

"Hey! There's no need for threats, you know!"

"We will see..." she said in a very fair imitation of their mother's narrowed eyes as they moved off towards where Neville and Garfield, the second Longbottom son, were waiting with their mother, Senior Auror Alice Longbottom, and godmother Lily Potter for the final two members of their little group. It was a good thing that the ladies had caught up with the boys before they boarded the train.

"Harry, Neville, have you been given any type of contraband, comprising of a piece of parchment and a cloak of invisibility by James?"

Without a delay, the mothers received an answer – a vehement 'no'. Having lived for so long with the boys and their fathers, the women knew better than to take the answer at face value.

"Have you found such contraband lying around innocuously?"

"Yes."

"If I check either your person or your trunks, will I find those items?"

"No."

"If I were to now be at the owlery, would I find Hedwig arriving in a few hours time with those items?"

"No."

"Would I find Hedwig already at Hogwarts with those items?"

"Hey look! That's Justin, Sally and Hermione, the three who we have been writing to!" pointed out the interrogator's son as the two rushed off towards three other children their age.

"JAMES CHARLUS POTTER!"


End file.
